


A Second Chance

by TheBeeThatHums



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Choose Your Own Adventure, F/M, Jealous John, Jealousy, Love Triangles, Loyal John Watson, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Being a Good Brother, Sibling Fluff, adopted!reader, past angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-11 03:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 24,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17439458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBeeThatHums/pseuds/TheBeeThatHums
Summary: John is surprised to learn Sherlock has an adopted sister but pleased with your winning personality. Mycroft suddenly takes an interest after a long time estrangement. Mummy just wants everyone to get along.This is a bit of a choose your own path story. After Chapter 10 it splits into ASC- A New Beginning: Mycroft x Reader and ASC- A New Friend: John x ReaderMoving all my old works over here! Don't mind me.~Bee





	1. Chapter 1

You followed John up the stairs to 221B, knowing he thought you were a client but not particularly caring. He opened the door for you and you smiled, such a gentleman Sherlock’s new flatmate was, kind of adorable too… like a little distraught hedgehog.

You waltzed into the flat while John announced, “Sherlock we have a client.”

As he said it, there was a little poof and some colored smoke seeped out of the kitchen so you went to lean on the doorframe with a small grin. Sherlock had his back to you and some safety goggles on his face as he held up a beaker to examine its contents, having completely tuned out John who was now apologizing to you.

You let out a distinctive tinkling laugh, clear and melodious like a bell, “You haven’t changed a bit, Sherlock Holmes.”

You could see a small smile tug at his lips as he recognized both your laugh and your voice, not looking from his work to answer, “Where exactly have you been? Mother was worried.”

“Bugger. I forgot to tell her that I was moving didn’t I?” you gasped.

Sherlock flatly answered, “You did.”

You frowned, “Do you think she’ll forgive me.”

He gave a slight smirk, “Of course. Mycroft probably won’t though.”

You stuck out your tongue, “Why should I care? I hardly know him and from what you tell me he’s still ghastly.”

“That’s why,” Sherlock answered when your phone rang.

You answered it, turning away from Sherlock to grin at a very confused John, “Hello Mycroft.”

“So Sherlock has just informed me. I’m terribly sorry,” you stated, quickly swapping your grin for a frown.

You gaped at his next statement, or rather demand, “I just got here Mycroft. I can’t- Fine but for her and not for you.”

Quickly shaking your head, you lied, “They have a case…Yeah. Just got it while I was here. Triple murder… all right, goodbye Mycroft.”

You huffed as you hung up and then, not turning to look at him, casually offered, “Wrong vial, Sherly.”

Sherlock had grabbed a vial without looking just moments before and now set it down to pick up the one next to it, “Just testing you.”

You scoffed, “Of course.”

“Did he buy it?”

You sighed, “Not in the slightest… Dr. Watson, I suggest you go pack.”

“What? Why? I don’t understand… Who are you exactly?”

You gave him a mischievous grin, “I’m Sherlock’s sister, (F/n).”

John looked between the two of you, “I thought…”

“Adoptive sister.” Sherlock interjected matter-of-factly and you threw a nearby ball of paper at his head, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I haven’t entirely decided that it isn’t.”

You stuck out your tongue at him and John chuckled, you certainly fought like siblings. You spun to face him again, “Go pack for three days at the least.”

John decided not to question it and went to do as you asked, leaving you and Sherlock alone. You knew he was avoiding looking at you because he wasn’t sure if he’d like what he would read from you, so you took a moment to look him over. He really hadn’t changed much in the six years you’d been gone, he was thinner and looked happier but other than that pretty much the same.

Walking over to put a hand on his shoulder, you tip-toed and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “You are still far too tall.”

There was a hint of a smile on his face even though his expression was that displeasure over your display of affection, “Quite the contrary, It is you that is far too short.”

You laughed before both your phones announced that they had a text and you flipped yours open as he asked, “How long?”

“An hour at King’s Cross,” you sighed, frustration coloring your voice 

He stopped what he was doing and frowned at his unfinished work, so you offered, “Go. I’ll finish here.”

He handed you what he was working on without hesitation and pulled the goggles off his face to put them on yours before bounding off to pack a bag, leaving you to complete his work. When John came out of his room a moment later with his bag, he was surprised to see you standing where Sherlock had been, quickly mixing vials and recording the results on a nearby pad. You may not be a Holmes but you were certainly just as smart as one, with the added benefit that you viewed life much differently than your adoptive brothers.

You finished just as Sherlock came out of his room, pulling off the goggles and placing them on the table before swiftly pressing caps to any remaining vials that needed them. Sherlock was out the door before you could finish and you grinned at John as you scooped up your bag, “Come along, Watson. He’s waiting.”


	2. Chapter 2

John followed you down the stairs to where Sherlock was indeed waiting with the cab door open and the three of you slid in. You barely made it to the station in time to catch your train, Sherlock and John sitting across from you in the car. You looked out the window and let them both study you, Sherlock deciding he finally couldn’t take it anymore and John just looking on with open curiosity.

You were wearing your typical outfit, jeans and a nice cotton shirt along with your black trench coat and a light scarf. To Sherlock it looked almost like you hadn’t been gone at all, your hair was longer and your eyes were tired but he could find no other changes. He let out a frustrated huff and you gave a soft smile, “Still can’t get an accurate read on me, can you?”

He made a face and you giggled, not giving in to the fact that his eyes demanded you allow him to see more and John queried, “So where exactly are we going?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and you kicked him in the shin before he could be rude, “Go somewhere else if you’re going to be difficult, Sherlock.”

He glared at you and did just that, getting up to leave you and John in the car alone as John tried not to laugh. Once that was done you gave John a warm smile, “We’re going to visit our mother at the Holmes estate. I did try to spare you and Sherly but I’m afraid Mycroft can always see through my lies.”

He nodded thoughtfully before asking, “How did you end up… you know…”

You chuckled, “Sherlock and I became friends in secondary school, that is why I know little of Mycroft. He was already out and about in the world by the time I came around and I’ve really only met him a handful of times. Anyroad, Sherlock and I were always close, like siblings from the start, so when I was twelve and my parents died in a car accident, leaving me with no other family, the Holmes’ took me in.”

“I’m very sorry.”

You grinned, “Don’t be. I will always miss them, yes, but I couldn’t have asked for a better adoptive family. A little odd I’ll give you that but loving in every sense of the word.”

John fell quiet for a bit, thinking over all that you had told him, “Surely you would have had many more opportunities to get to know Mycroft than that…”

You chuckled humorlessly as you gazed out the window, “There were but I’m afraid he views me as a mar on his family’s good name. In his mind, I’m more of a charity case than family, a burden.”

John could see he had hit on a sensitive topic and didn’t ask any further questions as you got a glazed look in your eyes, watching things rush past as you lost yourself in thought. Sherlock came back a moment later, having deemed it enough time for you to have enlightened John past the point of his questions being obvious and annoying, and immediately noticed that you were upset.

He glared at John in a way that said what-did-you-do and the man held up his hands in defense, signifying that he didn’t really know. Sherlock slid down next to you and brushed his fingertips against your arm, drawing your attention, and you turned to raise an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

He questioned you with his eyes in a silent language the two of you had developed over the years and you sighed, giving him the answer that he wanted in the same fashion before quietly asking, “Do you think he’ll be there?”

Sherlock shook his head, “He visited Mother last week and is far too busy to make a second visit so soon.”

You let out a sigh of relief, though you had kept in touch with both Sherlock and your mother up until six months ago when you’d relocated in your travels, it had been six years since you’d actually seen any of your family and with Mycroft, it had been more like fifteen.

The last time you’d seen him it had not ended well, he’d yelled and said some terrible things and you’d left in tears… on your birthday. Sherlock looked at you worriedly, you’d slipped up slightly in your thoughts and given him some more to work with, leading him to deduce that you had been through something trying in the last year and that it weighed on you heavily, enough so that you’d come home to try and escape it.

The three of you chatted casually for the rest of the train ride, though it was more you and John with Sherlock adding in his usual sarcasm, and a smile settled on your face as the train came to a stop a while later, “Bagsie.”

Sherlock groaned in disapproval but you bounced up happily and grabbed your things, going ahead of them as John asked, “Bagsie on what?”

Sherlock just shook his head and followed you, motioning for the doctor to do so as well. When they got outside you were leaning happily against a beautiful 1950’s Bentley in a smooth grey, bag already stowed and keys in hand as you waited for them to catch up.  

Sherlock and John slid in as you claimed the driver’s seat, smirking, “Say what you will about Mycroft but he does have fantastic taste.”


	3. Chapter 3

You drove them through rolling green hills spotted with mansions, humming happily to yourself as Sherlock fidgeted impatiently, “Really, (F/n), Why do you always insist on driving like a snail?”

You tossed him a grin, “Some things aren’t meant to be rushed Sherly. The beauty of this drive is one of them, so I suggest you lean back and enjoy because I shan’t be going any faster.”

John chuckled from the back seat as Sherlock folded his arms to mope like a child and you went back to humming, enjoying the landscape and the beauty of the day. You changed tunes after a bit and John turned from looking at the picturesque landscape to tilt his head at you, “That tune… Sherlock plays it often but won’t ever tell me what it’s called”  

You grinned widely as Sherlock gave John a look that could kill, “Does he now? I thought it was- how did you put it ‘simplistic and malformed with no consideration for the classics.’  That is what you said when I wrote it, isn’t it Sherlock?”

Giving a single nod, he clenched his jaw for the question the inevitably came next, “So were you wrong or did you just miss me?”

He considered his options, admit that he liked the song so that he didn’t have to say that he missed you far more than he would ever tell you, or anyone for that matter, or admit he missed you and keep his original opinion of the song intact.

Making a decision, he grumbled, “I was wrong. It’s rather nice.”

John did a terrible job of stifling a laugh, you knew exactly how to press Sherlock’s buttons in the most amusing way and it was immensely satisfying to him as he was normally the one having his buttons pressed. You gave a soft smile, tossing a knowing glance at your brother to which he gave a small upward twitch of his lips.

John was about to ask about further questions about the song, when you pulled up to a large house with a gated front, the large ‘H’ in the center split in half as the gates were thrown wide open in anticipation of your arrival. You stopped in front of the house and shut off the car before going to help John with the bags since Sherlock was still moping.

You had just slung yours over your shoulder when a wide grin spread across your face and you let it fall to the ground, bounding over to wrap an older woman who’d emerged from the house in a large hug, “Mum!”

The woman laughed and returned your hug just as fervently, “It’s been far too long darling. Stand back and let me get a good look at you.”

When you pulled away to do as she asked, John could get a good look at her. She looked normal enough, nicely dressed in a floor-length black skirt and white dress shirt under a fitted forest green blazer, her dark graying tresses pulled back into a causal yet immaculate bun. She cupped your face in her hands, “Look at you… all grown up. I remember when you were just a scraggly teen, hanging from a tree in my backyard with Sherlock’s violin in hand as he growled up at you from underneath. When did you become a proper woman?”

You grinned, jabbing a thumb in Sherlock’s direction, “When I got away from that child over there.”

You both turned to look at the man who was pursing his lips unhappily and burst into a small fit of giggles, hands coming up to cover your mouths.

“Oh ha ha (F/n). Lovely to see you, Mother. You’re doing well I trust.”

She nodded, turning to find John with her eyes, “Manners, Sherlock.”

He sighed, “Mother this is my flatmate, John Watson. John this is my mother, Violet Holmes.”

John extended a hand, which Violet took, “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Holmes. Thank you for having us in your home.”

The woman examined him closely before giving a small smile, “I like this one Sherlock. Handsome and polite, a surprising choice from you for a partner but I approve.”

John frowned unhappily, “W-we’re just flatmates. I’m not gay… not that there’s anything wrong with that… but I’m not. Gay I mean.”

You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh at how adorably flustered your little hedgehog friend was getting and Violet smirked, “Well then might I point out that last I checked my daughter is very much single and quite beautiful?”

You and Sherlock both groaned, “Not this again.”

Violet leveled you both with an unamused look, “Yes this again. I would like some grandchildren you know and I’m certainly not getting any younger.”

“We know.” you both grumbled and Violet hooked John’s arm with hers to lead him inside, “You know, I had hoped those two would develop feelings for each other over the years, that way (F/n) could finally take the Holmes name and the pitter-patter of little feet would fill this house again, but it seems they are rather content to act like children. Now tell me, what is it you do for a living, John?”

You chuckled as Sherlock came to stand next to you, “Perhaps we should have left John at home.”

Sherlock shook his head, “Perhaps. Though you marrying John may not be such a bad idea, he’s a decent bloke, an idiot but decent… and it would end Mother’s obsession with finding us partners.”

You shoved him playfully, “Don’t get any ideas, Sherlock.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock went to catch up to the pair before his mother tried to convince John that an outdoor wedding on the grounds would be lovely and you would look ravishing with daisies in your hair. He had expected you to follow but when he looked for you behind him, you were gone, having quietly slipped away while his back was turned.

You changed into an old light blue sundress you’d left there, which still fit you like a glove, and went out to the garden, enjoying the fact that it was a nice day as the sun warmed your face. Your bare feet padded along the old paths you used to take, long since overgrown but still clearly visible, until you found yourself in the part of the garden that Violet had given to you when you moved in.

It was immaculately tended, despite your absence, and you hummed as you leaned to smell a nearby flower. Your biological mother had loved to garden, often pulling you out to join her when you were a child, and you found that it was a love you had inherited, carefully picking out plants to place in your own garden in just the right way.

You thought about her now, the bittersweet memories of the two of you twirling around in your yard as she sang some melody or another, dancing through your head. She had always said that singing was the key to a vibrant and healthy garden because song helped the flowers grow. After she was gone, you spent quite a bit of time in this space, singing to yourself and tending to your little corner of the world. Once you’d even convinced Sherlock to practice his violin out here while you worked, reasoning that any little bit of music surely helped.

You chuckled slightly at the image of him playing amongst the roses and then began to wander around the area, lost in your memories. It wasn’t long before your voice could be heard throughout the garden and some parts of the house, joyful and uninhibited as a voice is when one thinks no one is listening.

Violet and the Baker St duo where well out of earshot, having sat down to tea in a distant sitting room, but there was someone else, who’s arrival you hadn’t anticipated, that could hear you quite clearly.

Mycroft Holmes hadn’t planned to come visit his mother but at the thought of both you and Sherlock there along with John, three adults that insisted on acting like overgrown children, he changed his plans. He got out of the car and was walking up the front steps when he heard your singing, tilting his head curiously before wandering around the side of the house to find its source.

While this was commonplace to most who inhabited the mansion, it was very odd for him as he was hardly ever around when you had lived there and when he was you weren’t ever in the garden. You didn’t notice Mycroft when he finally found you, too lost in your mind and focused on your plants to take in your other surroundings, and he stopped short of reaching you.

You looked rather beautiful, the sun lighting up your smooth skin and catching in your hair as you twirled your blue dress around you before leaning to tuck your nose into a fragrant blossom. He pulled himself out of his little observation and stepped closer to you, “While I quite enjoy your singing, may I ask who you are and why you’re in my garden?”

You snapped around in the direction of his familiar voice, your lips setting into an unwelcoming line, “This is hardly your garden Mycroft Holmes. I’ll have you know I picked and nurtured every flower and plant here myself. Not that you’d care.”

He was visibly surprised, it couldn’t be. This woman couldn’t be that burdensome child he’d shunned all those years ago… Could she?

You had been exactly eighteen the last time he saw you and it seemed he had forgotten over the years what you looked like, wanting absolutely nothing to do with you. It didn’t help that your features had gone from slightly androgynous to distinctly feminine during that time.

You didn’t even spare him an inquisitive glance before turning and swiftly leaving him for the comfort of the house, mounting the back steps and shutting the door firmly behind you. He stood there a moment, staring at the empty space where you had been, and then took in the garden that he spent quite a bit of time in whenever he came to call upon his mother.

He’d always considered it his, his space to think, but all these years it had really been yours. He’d often wondered why this part of the grounds was so different from the rest, more full of life and impeccably planned so that it didn’t look planned, and now he knew.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to listen to some piano I give you links-
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> Liszt- [www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCHE-U…](https://www.deviantart.com/users/outgoing?http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCHE-UPwBJA&noredirect=1)  
> 
> 
>   
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> Beethoven- [www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Tr0ot…](https://www.deviantart.com/users/outgoing?http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Tr0otuiQuU)

You swished down the halls trying to soothe your frazzled nerves and came to the music room, a familiar black grand piano calling to you from inside. At this point you didn’t care who heard, you were upset and you were going to play that piano because that was the only way you could think. Your fingers fell on the keys in an angry flurry, the notes of Liszt’s Piano Sonata in B Minor filling the air and hitting the ears of your companions in the sitting room.

Violet tilted her head, “I wonder what has her playing Liszt…”

Sherlock sighed, pressing his fingers together and resting his forehead on them, “Mycroft.”

As if his ears were burning, the man appeared in the doorway, giving Violet a warm grin, “Hello Mother.”

Violet frowned at him, “Mycroft Holmes, what on earth did you do to that dear girl this time?”

His face fell as both his mother and Sherlock looked at him expectantly, “Nothing. I merely asked why she was singing in the garden.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, reading his brother, “You didn’t recognize her.”

Mycroft pursed his lips, “It has been quite a long time since I saw her last.”

“And how long would that be to not recognize family?” John wondered aloud, his brows knitting together.

Mycroft gave him an unamused look, “She is hardly family but it has been fifteen years.”

“What have I told you about talking like that? (F/n) is family and I will not have you suggesting otherwise,” Violet scolded her eldest son.

Mycroft looked like a reprimanded child as he hung his head and grumbled, “Of course Mummy.”

A moment later, Sherlock was about to go and calm you when Violet suddenly grinned mischievously at John, “John would you be a dear and see if you can coax her away from that piano? Down the hall, third door on the left, but I suppose you could just follow the music if you forget.”

John looked to Sherlock who just gave a small shrug, indifferent as to whether John should do it or not, and then gave Violet a nod before wandering out of the room. It was probably for the best that John be the one to go to you, Sherlock reasoned, as he had never been good with the whole comforting thing, you certainly didn’t want to see Mycroft, and Violet just wanted her two children to get along.

Following Violet’s directions, John stopped outside the open door to the music room to watch you for a moment. Your face was set in a frown as your fingers flowed over the keys in complicated successions of rhythms, your eyes closed since it was a piece you knew fairly well.

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do so he knocked on the doorframe as he cleared his throat. To his surprise, it worked, to an extent, as you didn’t stop playing or open your eyes but your face softened slightly and you called, “I’m terribly sorry that my mother has sent you to deal with me, Watson.”

He stepped into the room, “How did you know it was me?”  

A small smile graced your face, “You knocked.”

Hitting a good stopping point in the piece, you opened your eyes and pulled your fingers away from the keys to pat the place next to you on the piano bench, “Come sit.”

He sat next to you, facing away from the piano so he could better see your face, “I’m supposed to be coaxing you away from the piano, not joining you.”

You gave a soft chuckle, “You’ve gotten me to stop, which is far more than either Sherlock or Mother can lay claim to. Especially with Liszt.”

“What’s so different about Liszt?”

“I only ever play pieces by Liszt when I’m upset. Which is likely why they sent you as I’m afraid Sherlock is rubbish at calming me down and Mum gets rather emotional.”

“And me? How am I doing?”

You turned to look at him from underneath your lashes, “I would say you’re doing rather well, though, as I’m still at the piano, the end result remains to be seen.”

It fell quiet for a moment and your hands came back up to the piano to play the beginnings of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. John frowned and asked another question, trying to get you to stop as succeeding where Sherlock had failed was now a point of pride, “Why do you hate Mycroft so much?”

You didn’t stop the music but still answered which he took as a good sign, “Hate is a strong word, I prefer very much dislike him… and even then I’m not even sure if that’s what it is. I feel that maybe we just misunderstand each other.”

John studied your face, which actually looked beautifully peaceful if slightly troubled, “What do you mean?”

After pursing your lips in thought for a moment, you began to explain, “I have never asked this family for anything, John. Violet and William have always been very giving yes, but my parents left me enough money to live comfortably and pay for top schooling. I even got a full scholarship to Cambridge when the time came… and yet Mycroft insists that I’m a burden, that I somehow drag his family name in the mud by just being associated with them even though I never actually took the Holmes name as my own. Maybe it is because my parents weren’t from old blood or that I’m far less logical than he or Sherlock… I don’t know for certain.”

You paused to let the music from the piano swell before falling again and then continued, “He’s always been cold towards me and I attributed it to his impressive intellect and the fact that we never really got a chance to know each other… I mean he never truly knew anything about me so how could he have known my own intellect at times surpasses that of Sherlock- though he would never admit it…. so I could understand if he felt he couldn’t relate. You know?”

John turned in his seat to face the piano so he could watch your hands move across the keys as he listened, “What changed?”

Your hands faltered noticeably as you recalled the last time you’d been in the same room as Mycroft, “When I turned eighteen he decided I’d been ‘playing house,’ as he put it, with his parents long enough. He told me to leave and never come back because I wasn’t worthy of calling the Holmes’ friends and much less family… That I was a burden to him, his mother, his father, and the world. He cut himself off after that… I think he realized what he had been about to say was incredibly cruel, not that it really mattered. The damage was already done.”

Even after all these years thinking about it could spill tears and a few trickled down your cheek, causing you to stop playing so you could wipe them away as John wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You looked up at him sorrowfully, “I just wanted him to like me, John. No. Not even that. I wanted him to pretend to like me or at least tolerate me. Was that too much to ask?”

“No (F/n). It wasn’t,” he answered, pulling you into the hug that he knew you desperately needed as a few more tears crept down your face.


	6. Chapter 6

You hated that simply running into Mycroft in the garden could bring back all those old, terribly bitter memories, hadn’t it been long enough for you to let it go? You didn’t mind talking to John, he was a good listener, but you had only just met him and now you were dumping your life story on him. It felt wrong.

The doctor didn’t mind though, he was curious and felt guilty for bringing up something that was painful for you to recall. Despite the short amount of time he’d known you, John liked you. You could handle Sherlock superbly, you were kind yet witty, and smart yet fairly humble. Chatting on the train and on the way over to the mansion, he had felt like he had known you for years, the two of you just clicked in that way that some people do.

You pulled away from the hug shortly, hurriedly wiping your eyes with a little chuckle, “Goodness look at me, bawling on your shoulder like some sniveling crybaby.”

He gave you a soft smile, “Some of Sherlock’s ‘comforting’ words?”

“Like I said. Rubbish.” You confirmed and the two of you laughed.

You stood and straightened the creases in the full skirt of your sundress, “Well I best go get sorted before Mother calls for lunch.”

John just watched you for a moment, actually taking in your new attire now that you were standing. Your dress was the color of the cloudless sky with a square neck and an open back dipping down into a smooth bow of the same color, which wrapped around your waist to accentuate the curve of your hip. The hem and neckline were embroidered with a white vine pattern that made it slightly more casual but still proper. An interesting juxtaposition to your bare feet, which were covered with a dusting of dirt from being outside, and your hair, which was pulled back into a bun similar to Violet’s but far less immaculate, some shorter strands breaking free and falling loosely in your face.

“(F/n). John. Lunch!” came Sherlock’s sharp yell from down the hall promptly followed by the sound of Violet scolding him for yelling instead of walking over to get you like she wanted.

“You go ahead, John. I’ll catch up.” There was no way you were going to the table without cleaning your feet and straightening yourself a little.

John exchanged a smile with you before responding to the call as you padded off to make yourself a tad more presentable. They were just sitting down at the table when Sherlock’s phone went off with a text message, garnering a raised eyebrow from his mother and a glare of disapproval from Mycroft. Opening it, he smirked at the words with a little chuckle before calling through the doorway, “You’ve eaten lunch with no shoes before. Mother doesn’t mind.”

A frustrated growl erupted from a distance away and a moment later you appeared in the doorway, your feet still bare, but clean now, and your cheeks a light pink as you hissed at Sherlock, “Can’t I count on you for anything?”

“Of course. As long as it isn’t trivial and idiotic as this was.”

You sighed, sliding in next to John, “I’m terribly sorry for my state of undress. I’m afraid I have only one pair of shoes and they are currently on the front steps covered in mud.”

The excuse was mostly directed at Mycroft as you knew that he was likely the only one who would care, a notion furthered by the fact that he was carefully scrutinizing you from across the table.  Now that he was closer, he could see the smattering of freckles across your nose and, from underneath your full lashes, a glint in your wide eyes that signified you’d been crying.

For the first time in all the time he had known you he actually felt bad, you had been happily minding your own business in the garden and he had come and ruined it. He told himself he shouldn’t care- he’d kept his opinion of you all this time, why should it change now? The fact that he found you attractive shouldn’t matter as within you were still the same girl who’d wormed your way into his family and laid claim to their love. You set your jaw defiantly and met his gaze with a fire in your eyes that surprised him, scrutinizing him with the same intensity he’d afforded you. The tension in the air was oppressive and weighed heavily on the entire table.

Violet cleared her throat, getting both of you to look to her as she offered you a small smile, “It was nice to hear you play Beethoven again, dear.”

You returned her smile, “I’d almost forgotten what it sounds like on a proper piano… one makes a number of sacrifices to remain untethered as I was in my travels.”

Sherlock took the opportunity you’d given him, “Speaking of your travels, I’m sure we’d all like to know where you’ve been the past six months… Mother was certain something terrible had happened to you.”

You looked distraught for a moment and then offered Violet a forlorn look, “I am so very sorry Violet. I should have called.”

She reassured you, her eyes flicking to Mycroft as she knew the only time you called her Violet was when he was around, in an attempt to keep the peace, “It’s alright, darling. It must have been something important for you to lose touch.”

Nodding, you confirmed that fact, “I owed someone a favor and they had me running around Canada to stop some scandal. Absolutely Baltic that place, it’s just snow and ice everywhere.”

“What kind of favor got you to do that? And from whom?” John looked puzzled as usual.

You blushed a pearly shade of pink, “The favor of getting me out of prison in Bangladesh. Knowing the right people can be useful for getting out of a tight space and Albert really came through for me… even if I had to go gallivanting all over that frozen wasteland in return.”

Your family, Mycroft included, all simultaneously began to ask questions with:

Violet loudly exclaiming, “Prison? What, in God’s name, were you doing in prison?”

Sherlock giving a smirk before pressing, “Was it a worthy scandal? Do tell.”

And Mycroft raising an eyebrow, “Albert? That wouldn’t be High Commissioner to Bangladesh, Albert Long, would it?”

You went a little wide-eyed for a moment before clearing your throat to silence them, “I’ll sort this out but one question at a time, please. Violet?”

She was frowning at you with both worry and a hint of disappointment in her eyes, “How did you end up in prison, dear?”

“Trust me, it is not as dire as it sounds… I was falsely imprisoned because I back sassed a guard after he tried to take my bike.”

They all stared at you for a moment before Sherlock let out a soft hum of amusement, having gathered a bit more from you, “You back sassed not just any guard but _the_ guard.”

You sighed, “How was I supposed to know he was head of the guard and as corrupt as rain is wet?”

Violet glared at her youngest son, “This is your influence, Sherlock. You taught her to sass her superiors by example.”

John looked to you and you flashed him an amused smile before going to your brother’s aid, “Please Violet, don’t blame him. I had a fair amount of sass long before I met him and my actions were my own.”

She sighed, “I suppose, as long as you are alright… That’s what matters.”

“I’m fine. Exhausted and a bit jet-lagged but happy to be in England again and no worse for wear.”

Sherlock took a breath to ask you his question but you cut him off with a finger pointed in his direction, “You do not have the clearance for me to fully answer your question but yes, It was a fantastic scandal. So twisty and challenging.”

He seemed satisfied with this, aware that later he’d convince you to give him details, and you turned to Mycroft as a small smile surprisingly found its way to your face, “Now what was it you asked, Mycroft?”

“Your friend, Albert, is he-?”

You nodded, “Yes, he’s the British High Commissioner. Do you know him?”

Mycroft nodded, looking at you with slightly more curiosity and a little less animosity now, “He’s a good diplomat but-“

“Terribly dull,” you and he finished simultaneously and you let out a sigh of relief, “Thank heavens, I thought I was the only one who held that opinion.”

Mycroft gave you a small genuine smile and you returned it as Violet gave a wide grin, “I told you that you had far more in common with her than you thought Mycroft.”

Your mother ruined the moment, as mothers often do, and Mycroft scowled at you, “Having a common acquaintance is hardly something worthy of excitement, Mother. The odds of that occurring are incredibly high and it changes nothing.”

You stood abruptly, your chair scraping harshly against the floor, “Please excuse me. I’m afraid I’m far more exhausted from traveling than I originally thought.”

Not waiting for an answer you stalked off and Mycroft was quick to excuse himself to stride off in the opposite direction, leaving the rest of the table to stare at their food for a moment before John remarked, “Should someone go check on her?”

Sherlock shook his head, having had his head chewed off for bothering you in this situation before, “Best to give her space.”

Violet let out a heavy sigh and slumped forward, giving up her proper stance for one of utter defeat, “It was going so well- they were smiling at each other- having a civilized conversation… Why does it always end like this?”


	7. Chapter 7

After leaving the table, you quietly padded to the library. No one would disturb you there, as Violet knew it was your sanctuary and Sherlock wasn’t one to interrupt your intellectual pursuits. Grabbing a couple of familiar titles and one unfamiliar one, you flopped down in your favorite chair by the window, tucking your legs up underneath you and spreading your skirt over them before leaning back to rub the window frame.

It was a tradition you, Sherlock, and even Mycroft shared. The frame could be reached from various chairs- though yours was the only one that looked out the window-  and whenever one of you sat down you had to rub your thumb against it in the same place each time, the deeper and shinier the dip you created by wearing down the wood, the longer you’d spent there.

Your dip was already fairly deep by this point, as you were often in the library in that chair over the years, but you rubbed it out of habit and then cracked open Ovid’s Metamorphoses. It was a favorite of yours, there were notes in your hand scribbled throughout it from the various times you’d taken it up, but what interested you now were the comments in a much cleaner print amongst your own.

You wondered if there would be anything new from your literary friend, which was how you chose to think of whoever added their own comments and even commented on your notes in not only this book but various others in the library as well. People came and went from the mansion often over the years, as your adoptive parents were quite the socialites, so you assumed your literary friend was one of your father’s frequent visitors but you didn’t really care who it was in the end. You enjoyed the mystery of it as well as their comments, which were witty and at times very insightful.

You skimmed, looking for anything different and, finding nothing, you flipped to a random story and began reading, blocking out the world around you and the troubled thoughts in your mind.

Mycroft froze when he walked into the library, trying to clear his head of you and the new effect you seemed to be having on him, only to find the very person he was working to forget sitting in his favorite chair with his favorite book in hand.

You were doing this to aggravate him, he decided, you had to be. Why else would you be there in that spot with that book right after he’d snubbed you at the table? He was about to calmly ‘encourage’ you to leave in that way that he had when he saw you shove your hand down in between the chair’s cushions, rummaging around a bit with your lip caught between your teeth before giving a triumphant grin as your hand emerged with a pen.

He tilted his head slightly, falling into observation mode as you clicked it and began to scribble on the page you had the book open to. The conclusions he came to in his mind were sound, he knew it, but at the same time, he refused to believe them. He’d had far too many surprises today, first with reacquainting himself with you, then the garden’s origins, and then your surprising fire and intelligence at the table. Mycroft hated surprises. He didn’t doubt himself, no it wasn’t that, it was that he hoped for his continued sanity he was wrong.

“What are you doing?” his voice caused you to visibly jump and your hold on the pen tensed, gripping it like a weapon out of instinct. 

You turned to him with your mouth agape, anger flashing through your eyes for a moment before you looked down at the book with a resigned air as you answered in a defensive tone, “Moth-Violet said it was alright if I took notes in the margins.”

He proceeded cautiously like a cat stalking its prey, “Keeping a pen tucked away in that chair would mean you’ve been doing so for quite some time.”

You fiddled with the edge of your dress uncomfortably but your answer was firm, “Since shortly after I began to live here. I always sit here and finding a pen otherwise is tedious.”

He’d closed the gap to loom over you, trying to be intimidating, but you were having none of it, looking up at him with your lips set in a hard line and a defiant spark in your eyes, “But you already knew that didn’t you?”

His eyes searched yours… had they always been that fantastic color? How had he missed so much? He’d never actually taken the time to do anything but scorn you. You hadn’t been worthy of the minimal effort it took his mind to observe things like appearance but now it seemed that you had completely taken over his mind and he couldn’t help but memorize every detail.

Your expression softened a bit as your actions mirrored his, your eyes trying to figure out what his intentions were by searching the spheres that stared back at you. They were a peculiar shade of grey mixed with flecks of blue and green much like Sherlock’s but far darker and, if possible, far more intelligent. There was a brief moment where you wondered what they would look like if the light hit them before you set your jaw, “If you’re going to try and get me to stop, save your breath. I’m not the only one who writes in these books.”

You went back to your writing in an act of blatant defiance as you assumed he disapproved of your actions, but he was calm as he smirked, “You don’t need to inform me of my own actions.”

Furrowing your brow momentarily, your eyes snapped up to meet his again, “You?”

You suddenly stood, discarding your book and pen on an end table, and began to move across the room, “If this is some joke Mycroft, it is in poor humor.”

“I can assure you I dislike the notion as much as you do but it is, in fact, true.”

You stopped and pressed your hands over your face, Mycroft couldn’t be your literary friend. He just couldn’t. All the things you’d shared with him, the thoughts and random ideas that you’d tucked away in old leather-bound copies of your favorite titles, now felt like an intrusion. The more you thought about it, the more sense it made, he was the only one who was there often enough to account for the amount of notes in that handwriting. Why hadn’t you seen it before?

Mycroft watched your conflict play out on your face, there was no denying he’d been right about you being his mystery scribbler now and the idea was just as troubling to him as it was to you. You had surprised him yet again and he was beginning to wonder if his immediate hatred towards you had clouded his mind. Perhaps he’d misjudged you all these years.

He thought about the many times he’d almost craved for the mystery person to write something new so he could respond and how their comments could make him chuckle or inspired a new line of thinking.

All that had been you.

It meant that you were far more intelligent than he gave you credit for. It also meant, he realized with a light blush, that you had read his attempts at poetry on the blank pages at the backs of some books and, furthermore, you’d written him praises.

Composing yourself at a rather surprising rate, you silently padded to a ladder at one of the bookshelves, stepping up a few rungs before leaning rather precariously over until your outstretched hand found what you were looking for. You pulled it off the shelf, wobbling precariously as Mycroft came to your side to be ready in case you fell, as it looked you were going to.

Quickly righting yourself, you turned to lean against the ladder and look down at him as you opened the book and read,

I live in a world of goldfish  
Brilliant flashes of false gold  
As they swim about the face  
Of this place they call home

They can never understand  
Attention waning as fast as it came  
Blissful minds, unaware of truth  
Leaving me enlightened and alone

Alone in a world of things not known

It was quiet for a moment, “You wrote that… nearly seven years ago I believe. It’s brilliant.”

You stepped down off the ladder and pushed the book into his hands, stepping past him before pausing, “That poem was the reason I left six years ago. I wanted to see if somewhere out there people existed to be more than goldfish, to be beyond average… They do Mycroft. You are just a big fish in a small pond with your mind closed off to everything that could be.”

You left him, floating away like a small stormy cloud with him looking after you in a slightly stunned and immensely curious way. He wanted to yell at you. To tell you that you couldn’t possibly understand, that you were wrong, but something stopped him.

He looked down at the book in his hands and then flipped it open to the back page. It had been years since he’d read this book or the poem he’d scrawled in it and he was surprised to find, what he now knew to be, your distinctive scrawl there alongside his own. It read,

Do not feel alone  
Use what is known  
Open your mind  
And you will find  
Minds in kind

It was oddly simple but resounded through him so strongly he felt as though he couldn’t move. You were right. He’d closed himself off, held himself apart. It had made him blind to what could be and what was. Intelligence does not make you alone, Sherlock had proven that by making friends. It was his arrogance and pride that made him alone. He sat down in the chair by the window, reaching to rub his thumb on the window frame out of habit, and then folded his hands beneath his chin to think.


	8. Chapter 8

You went in search of Sherlock, hoping he’d have some sort of odd activity to distract you from what had just happened in the library, and found Violet instead, “Have you seen Sherly, Mum?”

She was folding some laundry in her room and stopped when you popped your head in, “He took John for a tour of the grounds though I think he just wanted to get his friend away from me.”

You let out a heavy sigh flopping down on her bed and she smiled at you, “He’s quite handsome, (F/n), and smart too. A doctor.”

You groaned, “I hardly know him, Mother. Weren’t you the one who said good relationships were built on better friendships?”

She folded another shirt, slipping it into a drawer, “By that logic, you and Sherlock would be the perfect couple and since that’s not happening maybe I was wrong. Maybe you need a little mystery to keep it interesting.”

There was a lull and then she added, “And you played Beethoven for him. You only play Beethoven for people you like.”

You rolled to your side so you were facing away from her, “I just felt like playing Beethoven. Like I said it’s been a while since I’ve had a proper piano.”

You could hear her let out an unconvinced hum and you sighed, “Ok maybe I like him a little. He’s nice… but that doesn’t mean we’re magically going to get married.”

She laughed, sitting down next to you and pushing some hair away from your neck, “Just think about it, darling. You deserve to find someone who loves you.”

You rolled to face her, curling your knees up to your chest, and she sighed, “What’s the matter?”

You stared at the space in front of you, thinking, and then slowly answered, “Did you know that Mycroft also writes in the books in the library?”  

Motioning for you to sit up, she said, “I did.”

Mycroft paused his course down the hall when he heard your voice coming from his mother’s room, moving closer to see what you were talking about. You tucked your knees against your chest, wrapping your arms around them tightly and resting your chin on top as she undid your sloppy bun and began to pull a brush through your hair.

You were quiet, so in an attempt to get you to speak your mind she mentioned, “You two have far more in common than you think (F/n).”  

You let out all the air in your lungs through your nose, “I know. Honestly, I don’t hate him… I just… I don’t know. He's so... difficult.”

You could feel her run her fingers through your hair soothingly, “Do you want me to have Sherlock talk to him?”

You shook your head, “No… it probably would only make it worse. Maybe I should just go home and visit you some other time.”

Violet stopped what she was doing, “No (F/n).”

You tucked your nose between your knees, “I don’t want to come in between you and your son, Violet. Our issues shouldn’t be placed on your shoulders.”

She came to sit next to you, pulling you to her in a hug before lifting your chin, “Look at me.”

You did as she asked and she brushed some of your loose locks behind your ear, “You are my child no matter when you came into this family. I do not love you any less and you have every right to be here. No matter what Mycroft may say. I do wish the two of you would get along, yes, but don’t feel like you have to leave to spare me. If I have to choose between you and Mycroft arguing and you not being here at all I will always pick the prior.”

Your lip quivered and you tugged her to you tightly, “I love you, Mum.”

She held you just as tightly before releasing you, “I love you too darling. Now let’s see what we can do about this hair. It’s gotten so long.”

You chuckled, “I know. I’ve been thinking about getting rid of it.”

She lightly slapped your shoulder, “Don’t you dare. It’s beautiful.”

Mycroft tuned out the sound of you chatting in the room to think. You didn’t hate him, that was good he supposed, and you obviously cared for Violet enough not to want to cause her distress or his relationship with her any harm. His mother, in turn, cared about you just as much… she had been rather distraught when you'd stopped calling, begging him to use his connections to find you. His disdain for you hurt both you and her he concluded.

He loved his mother, despite his philosophy on such feelings, and didn’t want to hurt her, so his only option was to act corrigible towards you. It couldn’t be that hard, you had already proven to be far more than he’d ever thought you were and investigating further could be interesting. It was possible that you had been right when you wrote that he needed to open his mind. Maybe it was time to stop being alone.

He moved forward and into the doorway just as Violet placed you in front of the floor length mirror so you could see what she’d done with your hair. It was mostly down, falling over your shoulder blades and back, but a portion of the front, sides, and a bit of the back that were gathered into a smooth light blue ribbon tied into a bow to match your dress.

Violet had her hands on either of your shoulders, gazing at your reflection, “You look just like your mother you know… the spitting image. She would have been proud.”

You blushed red and examined yourself a little more closely in the mirror with the new information in mind as Violet pressed a kiss to your temple and turned to spy Mycroft, “Oh hello dear. Did you need something?”

You stepped away from the mirror when you felt his eyes on you, keeping your back to him as you examined the floor, and he opened his mouth only to shut it again. Violet quirked an eyebrow at her son as she narrowed her eyes, she knew him well enough to see that he was conflicted and, seeing an opportunity, offered, “(F/n). Why don’t you show Mycroft your garden? Maybe you can find Sherlock and John while you’re out there and bring them back for Afternoon tea.”

You turned to look at her and she gave you an encouraging smile, “Go on dear. Mycroft won’t bite.”

She looked to her son expectantly, “Will you Myke?”

He offered you a small smile that looked almost shy, “I promise I will not.”

You eyed him suspiciously but ultimately decided you would give it a chance for Violet’s sake, “Alright.”

He offered you his arm and you hesitantly linked your hand around its crook, giving Violet one last unsure glance, to which she gave you a reassuring grin, and let him lead you out to the garden.


	9. Chapter 9

You kept stealing glances at him, trying not to let your curiosity get the better of you as it would likely disturb the delicate peace between the two of you, and he noticed, of course.

He felt like he knew you... how could he not?

All those years sharing thoughts with each other, giving each other advice… he’d always considered the scribbler his friend, his only friend. He hadn’t known he needed friends until that distinctive scrawl had started appearing in his favorite books and after that, he wanted only one.

He enjoyed the anonymity of it, there were no social niceties to worry about, no need to be concerned about the things that normally came with making friends, just simply one mind connecting to another in the purest of ways.

That did mean he didn’t wonder what they -you- were like, he was curious of course, but with only your writing to go by he came up with little. From the way you wrote, you were very intelligent and well educated but your handwriting relayed that you were a little whimsical and more free-spirited than most, as it was ranged from scrawly to smooth but always had an old fashion and swirly look to it. He glanced at you now and decided that it suited you, though he would have never imagined that his scribbler would look or act like you did.

He was balancing his options in his head- build a friendship with you based off of your shared literary past or let his old hatred continue to fester and remain estranged- when you gave a small huff and came to a stop, “Would you mind just standing still for a moment? It’s driving me absolutely mad to not have looked you over properly.”

That sealed his decision- he was going to do his best to keep the one friend he had even if that one friend happened to be you.

He turned and gave you a small smirk with a raised eyebrow as you put your hands on your hips and let your eyes wander over him, cautious but so curious you just couldn’t help yourself. He jumped slightly when your fingers reached out to graze the chain of his pocket watch as you tried in vain to stifle a soft giggle, causing him to give a small frown, “What?”

You looked up at him innocently, snatching your hand back as a pink tint settled in on your cheeks, “I’ve never met anyone with a proper pocket watch before…” Your lips twitched up slightly as you returned your gaze to it, “I like it.”

He gave a soft surprised chuckle and your cheeks went from pink to red as you rubbed at your wrists, turning back towards your destination, “We can continue if you’d like.”

He offered you his arm again and you timidly slipped your hand around it, your burst of confidence waning as your curiosity was satisfied. He considered what to say as carefully as your fingers pressed against his suit coat, and decided on something simple, “Do you always go barefoot?”

You pursed your lips, trying to decode if he was genuine or not, and then nodded, “I do when I can… though in winter it’s too cold and Violet dislikes it when I bring in mud, so it’s not as often as I’d like.”

“May I ask why?”

You caught your lip between your teeth for a moment as you thought before answering, “I like the way the ground feels beneath my feet. It’s like…” You fumbled for words to explain it in a way he would understand, “It’s like… running your hands over a quality fabric, there as many different feels as there are different types, and it’s immensely satisfying to let your fingertips discover them all. The feel of grass or dirt… even mud beneath my feet is the same way.”

Reaching the back door, you bounced forward to pull it open, letting him walk through before shutting it behind you and leaping down the steps. You paused a few footfalls away to wait for him to catch up and spun to a sight that made you tilt your head like a confused puppy.

Mycroft was sitting on the top step, meticulously removing his shoes and socks, and, when he was done, set them neatly next to the door and stood to follow you. You gave a tiny bemused grin before having a troubling realization, reaching out a hand as you called, “Wait!”

He froze and you hurried over, dropping to your knees on the step in front of him with your dress billowing out around you before gingerly cuffing his trousers so they wouldn’t drag on the ground.

“There,” you proclaimed, “It would be a shame to ruin such a nice suit.”

You leaned back and up to your feet, patting at the creases in your dress before offering him a hand and a flash of your teeth. You dropped it when you saw that he was giving you an odd look, lowering your head as you cringed slightly, “I’m sorry… Should I not have done that? I-I just thought-“

He watched as you hugged yourself, obviously expecting to be yelled at, and stepped forward to place a hand on your shoulder and a finger under your chin so you would look up at him, “Thank you. I hadn’t even considered that. Now I’d very much like to see your garden if you’ll allow it.”

Teeth pulled to your lip again and he noted that it must be a habit that signified you were mulling things over in your head, before you gave him a concise nod and swished off towards your garden. He followed you closely, watching a grin spread across your face as you twirled through your little corner of the world to a smooth stone bench, dipping down on to it and offering him a tiny shy smile as you welcomed him to sit next to you with a pat.

He did, wiggling his toes in the grass before letting out a short laugh, “I must say this feeling is… interesting.”

The sound of your giggle was like music to his ears as you wiggled your own toes, “You should feel this when it's wet… nothing beats it on a hot summer’s day.”

“I shall keep that in mind.”

It was quiet for a moment and then you threw your arms out wide, “Well this is my garden… Is it safe to assume from your response before that you like it?”

He gave you a gentle smile and gazed out over your domain, “I’ll admit- I have spent a fair amount of time out here over the years, I find it’s a good place to sort through my thoughts.”

“Agreed,” you hummed contently, rocking back and forth as you gripped at the edge of the bench. He turned to ask you another question only to have the wind stolen from his sails as a cry rang out from the outer edge of the area, “(F/n)!”

He exhaled forcefully in frustration as you bounced up to greet Sherlock and John, tossing yourself into Sherlock’s arms so he had no other option but to catch you. He chuckled and spun you before setting you down and placing a purposeful, if false, frown on his face, “You know I hate it when you do that.”

Waving him off you turned to John, taking his hands in yours, “Did you enjoy the grounds?”

He twirled you, making you giggle happily, “I did. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful... and the grounds were nice too.”

You blushed a deep red and gave his shoulder a playful slap as Sherlock pointed out, “You still haven’t seen (F/n)’s garden.”

John offered you a grin, “Would you show me (F/n)? Sherlock says you know it best.”

The taller man rolled his eyes, “Obviously. She tends to it after all.”

You gave him a shove before taking up John’s hand to tug him into your space, “I’d be delighted to show you. I was just showing Mycroft as well.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in surprise, seeking out his brother who was still sitting on the bench, his lips pursed unhappily, and tilted his head in curiosity. He’d only been gone for a short while yet it seemed quite a bit had changed. You pulled John around, both of you giggling like children as you pointed out your favorite plants, and Sherlock went to sit with his brother.  

“Not a word,” Mycroft murmured darkly when Sherlock bemusedly glanced at his bare feet before returning his gaze to you, “You seem to be getting on well.”

Neither of their eyes left you as he simply responded, “I may have misjudged her.”

Sherlock’s jaw set, “Be sure, brother dearest. I will not have you hurting her again.”

Mycroft was about to respond when you screeched to a halt in front of them, “Moth-Violet said I should bring you back for Afternoon tea if I found you.”

Sherlock sighed, “I think we can keep John from her for a few minutes longer.”

You gave your new friend an apologetic smile as you ducked your head, “That would probably be best.”

Mycroft raised a curious eyebrow and Sherlock offered, “It would seem Mother has decided John a good match for (F/n). You know how she is.”

The older man gave a pursed lip frown, “Indeed.”  

“Neither of us is likely to get any peace… “ you sighed, shaking your head.

Within seconds, there was a grin playing on your lips again as you let go of John to take up Mycroft’s hands in yours, pulling him up, “Is there anything you’d like me to show you Mycroft? I apologize for getting a little bit distracted by John.”  

“I’ve always wondered about that plant over there,” he offered, allowing you to take his arm again as he moved toward it.

John watched you chatter away to Mycroft about the plant he’d indicated as you walked with him, sinking down next to Sherlock, “Do you think his sudden change of heart is genuine? It is Mycroft, he could be playing at something.”

Sherlock lips twitched unhappily, “I wish I knew John… If anything at least Mother will be happy.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the split chapter! Going forward John chapters will be titled A New Friend and Mycroft chapters will be titled A New Beginning.
> 
> They should alternate.

After a surprisingly pleasant Afternoon tea with a thrilled Violet, Mycroft excused himself to take care of some work and John complained of being tired, slipping off to his room, leaving you and Sherlock to your own devices. You were fairly tired as well but after six years of missing him you weren’t about to waste this opportunity to hang out with Sherlock, smiling up at him deviously, “I challenge you.”

Violet chuckled, getting up to leave the two of you to your inevitable antics, as he folded his hands beneath his chin, “What are your terms?”

“The usual rules beginning fifteen minutes from our agreement. If I win, I get three hugs at three separate instances of my choosing and you have to read me one story. If you win, I will tell you about my scandal and watch one movie of your choosing with you without complaining about your commentary.”

He considered this and then nodded, reaching out a hand for you to grasp as he stated, “I agree to your terms.”

As soon as he released your hand, you bounded up the stairs and into your room, quickly changing your clothes and grabbing your gear before carefully slipping out the window to creep across the ledges to the music room. You quickly set up your trap and then ‘accidentally’ flicked one of the piano strings causing it to hum softly as you slipped out the window again, dropping to the floor below in a hazardous leap.

Sherlock smirked smugly as he made his way to the music room, you were rusty since you’d slipped up so easily as to create a sound. He entered the room cautiously, knowing you had a propensity to create traps, and let his eyes search the room until he noticed something amiss with the lid of the piano. Stepping over curiously to examine your trap, a mistake on his part, he triggered the real trap and got hit in the back with one of your markers.

Despite his frustrations that he’d taken the first hit, he grinned a little proudly- you’d caught him off guard and played to his weaknesses: his arrogant confidence and curiosity. He turned to begin his search for you but only made it to the doorway before he was hit again, this time with your dart gun from the bottom of the stairs, as you sing-songed, “You’re rusty Sherlock~ Having John has made you lose your edge.”

He bounded down the stairs to chase after you as your sprinted down the hall, skillfully sliding across the floor to your next destination with sock-clad feet and catching the door frame to swing yourself into its room before he could catch up. Using the windows to your advantage again, you swung up to the second level, using some ivy on the wall outside to help your ascent.

It would seem Sherlock had anticipated your use of the windows since the one above you, the one to his room, was locked, as well as the ones on either side of it that would have also let you into his space. You huffed quietly, knowing that checking all three had lost you time and possibly your advantage, and quickly moved to the next window over. It wasn’t until you slipped through it that you realized it was John’s room and that you’d startled him, “Bloody hell! What the- (F/n)?”

You didn’t bother answering as you clapped a hand over his mouth with a sense of urgency and pressed a finger to your lips, hoping Sherlock hadn’t heard him. John took the few seconds to look you over- you had on black pants and a grey V-neck with various contraptions and weapons strapped to your legs, back, and arms, and what looked to be night vision goggles on your forehead.

You had just deemed it safe when the door behind you burst open and you cursed as you ducked behind John, who was promptly hit in the chest with one of Sherlock’s markers. You took the moment of confusion and darted past John to dive out the door, shooting Sherlock in the back again as you slid across the floor and pulled the door shut, but not before he hit you in the shoulder. You jammed the lock with one of your many tools and quickly bounced away to plan your next move.

Sherlock frowned at the door and then began to look around the room, trying to figure out what he should do next, as John gaped at him, “What’s going on Sherlock? Why are-“

“Shut up John. I’m trying to think. She only needs two more hits and she wins… it seems she’s learned some new skills over the past years.”

He was dressed similarly to you in a black button down and grey trousers but didn’t have as much of an arsenal since he preferred a more straight forward approach- using stealth and deductions to hit you when you weren’t expecting it- over your traps and mind games. John glared at him and then wiped at the bright blue splotch on the front of his jumper with a pout causing Sherlock to roll his eyes, “Oh quit it. It’s washable.”

John frowned at his friend as he went to the window you’d come in through and stepped out on to the ledge calling, “She can explain when she comes to fix your door. Until then I suggest you sit tight to keep from getting in my way again.”

“I got in _your_ way!? You shot me in the chest you-“ John started to argue but Sherlock was already moving across the ledges outside, not as skillfully as you but competently enough that he didn’t fall.

Downstairs you stayed in the hall closet, avoiding rooms with windows as you knew he would come in through one but not which. You yawned, waiting for him to fall into your newest trap, and a moment later heard his distinctive footsteps in your hall. You snuck out of the closet as you hummed, “Bet you wish you had your night vision goggles now, don’t you Sherly?”

You watched him spin and blindly shoot into the completely dark hallway, part of your trap, missing you by a lot as you moved to get a clean shot before his vision adjusted. You stifled a giggle as you hit him smack in the forehead and he groaned, “I thought we agreed not in the face, (F/n)…”

Unable to hold it in any more, you let out a laugh, giving away your position before ducking so his marker wouldn’t hit you. All you had to do was hit him one more time and you would reign supreme but as you geared up, the door next to you opened and flooded the hallway with light, causing you to give a small screech as you pried the night vision goggles off your face.

You fully expected to be hit in your temporary blindness but instead you heard Sherlock’s deep chuckle resounding through the hallway and when you could see again you found out why. It had been Mycroft who opened the door and he had stepped out in front of you- right into the path of Sherlock’s most recent shot. You pressed a hand over your mouth as you tried not to laugh, looking up at Mycroft’s blue covered face as you shot Sherlock in the chest to end the game, “Your aim was a little high, Sherlock.”

“I know,” he hummed, still chuckling contently at his brother's 'misfortune.'

Mycroft went red under the paint as he lowly seethed, “Just what do you two think you’re doing?”


	11. A New Friend- Chapter 11

You jabbed a finger in Sherlock’s direction, “I’m sure Sherlock would be more than willing to explain. Now if you’ll excuse me, John is still locked in his room.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to protest and likely to scold some more but you were already moving past Sherlock who shot you a glare for sticking him with his brother as you smirked, “You shot him- Your problem.”

“I shot John as well, why can’t I deal with him?” he whined and you just laughed from halfway up the stairs. You dropped to your knees outside John’s door and used your tools to reset the lock, leaning against the door lazily as you gave a small yawn. There was a soft click signifying your success and you rolled back up to your feet and swung the door open, startling John once again, “Bloody hell!”

You chuckled, going red as you noticed he didn’t have a shirt on, and let your eyes linger for far too long before you turned away, “S-Sorry… I thought I’d come set you free. I should have knocked.”

Your prolonged look at his bare chest was not lost on him and he gave a slightly smug smile as he offered, “You know you don’t have to keep bursting in like this if you want to see me.”

You laughed as he pulled a shirt over his head and came to place a hand on your shoulder, “Not that I’m complaining- It’s not every night that a beautiful woman shows up in my room unannounced.”

You turned to look up at him a little shyly, “Well it’s not every day that I have a handsome soldier to burst in on- not to mention your startled face is pretty adorable.”

He flashed you a toothy grin and you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you cleared your throat and turned back to the door, “Your door should be all fixed now… sorry about locking you in and for getting you shot. I wasn’t expecting Sherlock to burst in like that. A mistake on my part… I should have just assumed he heard you.”

“I don’t mind, (F/n), I’m used to things like that happening by now, but what exactly were you and Sherlock doing?”

You offered him a sheepish grin, “Keeping our skills sharp… it would seem that he’s been relying on you too much since he’s gotten rusty- usually, it would have been much closer than one to five. Disappointing but I won some hugs so for me it’s not really a bad thing.”

“You won hugs…?” John queried, raising a curious eyebrow.

“Mhmm- three.” you hummed before tilting your head in thought, “I wonder how much I can get out of him before he gets his stride back.”

John chuckled, shaking his head, “You two are siblings if I ever saw any.”

You abruptly clapped your hands together, giving him a scarily mischievous look, “I wonder how well he would do if you teamed up with him… your skills could probably use some honing if you're running around with him on cases. Something tells me you’re a good shot too. I like a challenge.”

He considered this for a moment, keeping himself sharp could avoid either of them getting shot on cases- amongst other things- and then there was the reward… He stepped closer to you, “And what do I get if we win?”

You put a finger on your chin in mock thought, poking his chest lightly as you thrummed, “That depends on what motivates you, Dr. John Hamish Watson… A night to yourself in the flat?”

You started circling around him, trailing your fingertips against him as you went, "A home cooked meal? Perhaps a laptop password Sherlock won’t guess?”

Coming to a stop in front of him, you gave him a small seductive grin as you purred, “Or perhaps I could offer a kiss,” leaning in close to him before teasingly pulling away, “or perhaps not.”

He just sort of gaped at you, not even trying to figure out how you’d known all that about him, and you snuck a glance at him, searching for the markers that your little test had been successful. His breathing was uneven, his jaw slack, his pupils dilated, and you were fairly certain his heart rate was off the charts- he liked you.

You blushed a deep red at the realization just as Sherlock came in, quickly assessing the situation, “You stuck me with Mycroft so you could tease John? Really (F/n)? I thought you were above that…”

You shrugged and John tilted his head in curiosity, “What happened with Mycroft?”

“Sherlock shot him in the face on ‘accident’ “ you giggled before giving him a little shove, “I thought you were above doing things like that to your brother…”

Sherlock smirked, “You have to admit the look on his face was priceless.”

“Worth losing to me?”

“Obviously.”

“You’re rusty,” you yawned and he simply huffed, “You’re exhausted.”

“All the more reason for you to be ashamed- I whooped you when I wasn’t even at full strength.”

You gave another large yawn as he rolled his eyes, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder just before you started to wobble, “Come on. I know you were enjoying messing with John but it’s time for bed.”

The exhaustion hitting you full force, you mumbled, “Good night John,” and let Sherlock lead you away as you rubbed at your eyes sleepily before adding from just outside the door, “My room’s right next to yours on the right- if you need anything.”

John offered you a soft smile and called, “Thank you (F/n). Sleep well,” before Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave you a more forceful tug in the direction of your room. You let out a soft wordless whine but ultimately complied, stumbling into your room and making him turn around to face the wall as you pulled on your pajamas. He peeked after a moment and found you sitting on the floor, trying to stay awake as you failed at pulling your socks off, and sighed as he knelt down to help you up.

Once you were on your bed, he pulled off your socks for you and smirked as he ran his fingers along the underside of your now bare feet, causing you to let out a shrieking laugh as you quickly curled your feet up underneath you. Sitting up to pout at him, you puffed, “That wasn’t very nice.”

He plopped down on the edge of the bed next to you as he hummed, “Neither was you shooting me in the face.”

You could tell it had been a long time since he’d let loose and had some fun- normally your matches were a lot closer than that. You had hoped that maybe John was able to draw out the more human side of Sherlock, as you did when he allowed it, but it seemed that was something he reserved for you and only you. You were quiet for a second, staring down at your lap, and then looked up at him, “I missed you, Sherly. I should have come home a long time ago.”

He gave you a little shove so you would lie down and then tugged the covers over you as he stated, “Yes, you should have… but I forgive you.”

You chuckled, pulling him down next to you by the front of his shirt, “Stay with me for a bit?”

“No”

“Pleassee?”

“You’re already half asleep, (F/n). No.”

You shifted to give him your best pout and biggest puppy eyes and he let out an exasperated but resigned sigh, “Fine… just for a few minutes. No snuggling.”

“But-“

“No.”

“Sherlock-“

“No.”

You huffed turning away from him to sulk and he sighed when your breathing went slow and even, signifying you’d fallen asleep. He felt a little bad that you'd fallen asleep upset, so he reached over and poked you, knowing exactly what reaction it would cause. You let out a soft whimper and rolled to tuck yourself against his side without waking before letting out a content hum as you buried your nose into his ribs and grumbled, “I love you Sherly…”

He rolled his eyes but still wrapped an arm around you as he slipped into his thoughts. He’d missed you too and he knew you knew it despite the fact he never actually said it. It was nice to have you home even if it created some problems with Mycroft that he had to think over… what was his brother up to with his sudden change of attitude towards you? It was troubling... and then there was John.

He had to admit you two made a good match even if he didn’t exactly see the point in dating and romance- perhaps Mother had had the right idea in trying to get the two of you together. You even seemed to like his flatmate but with you it could just be you fooling around with a new friend as opposed to you actually being attracted to them. John seemed to be in a similar state... it could work. Then again he would have to make absolutely certain that John was right for you before he allowed anything to happen- he was not going to let you get hurt. He huffed and carefully disconnected himself from you to go to his own room with his thoughts…  being a big brother was hard.


	12. A New Beginning- Chapter 11

You floundered for a second and then sighed, tossing Sherlock a roll of tools, “Go let John out of his room. I’ll explain to Mycroft.”

Sherlock started to protest, a little concerned as to how his brother would handle it, but you had already turned to back to look up at the man as you demanded, “Keep your eyes closed- this stuff stings.”

Mycroft huffed but did as you asked and you gently took his arm to lead him back into his room as you waved a hand for Sherlock to shoo. You brought him to a chair near the fireplace, deducing that he’d probably been sitting there before from the papers and glass of scotch, and carefully pushed him down into it, “If you would just sit still for a moment. I’ll get some things to clean you up.”

“I wouldn’t need your help if you and Sherlock didn’t insist on acting like children,” he snapped as you went to his bathroom and wet a towel.

“I know it seems childish to you but it’s a way for Sherly and me to keep sharp. We both put ourselves in situations that require quick thinking and tactical solutions in order to come away unscathed- this helps… besides it’s terribly fun,” you offered, returning to where he sat with pursed lips. You leaned over, tilting his face up towards you with gentle fingertips on his chin, and delicately wiped the paint away from his eyes with the towel, “Though I will admit- I’m fairly certain Sherlock shot you on purpose.”

“That is not surprising,” he puffed softly in a little tiff.

“You can open now. I’m almost done,” you murmured, hoping his anger had dissipated a little bit as his eyes flickered open. They widened slightly when he saw how close you were and you offered him a small smile, “Hey.”

“Hello,” he breathed quietly and you let out a soft giggle, continuing to clean the rest of his face as he looked up at you. The light from the fire lit up his eyes in the most intriguing way and you kept glancing up at them as he did some observing of his own, watching the warm shadows flicker across your face- your lips gently parted with your tongue peeking out slightly in concentration. Giving one last careful sweep, you hummed, “There,” before straightening and nervously offering, “I’m sorry you got caught up in our antics. I just wanted to have a little fun with Sherlock… it’s been so long. I just-Will you forgive me?”

He stood and reached forward to take your hands in his in an attempt to stop their fidgeting, making you look up from the floor as he offered you a small reassuring smile, “There is nothing to forgive (F/n). You were not the one who shot me.”

You were visibly surprised, having expected him to yell or at least reprimand you, and scrutinized him warily from underneath your lashes as he pursed his lips. His hand came up to trace the blue splotch on your shoulder where Sherlock had hit you, “You didn’t come away unscathed either but you did beat my brother and I find that immensely satisfying.”

You chuckled and gave a slight nod, “He doesn’t have the finesse required to use the windows like I do. At night it is a definite advantage.”

He thought about that for a moment and then seemed conflicted, taking hold of both your hands again before staring at you with a sudden fiery intensity, “(F/n)… there is something I must say- if you will listen…”

Equally conflicted, you squeezed his hands both out of nervousness and encouragement as you gave a hesitant nod and he continued, “You ask me for forgiveness when it should be reversed… the way I have acted for so long… I know it has hurt you in ways that I cannot even begin to understand and for that, I offer my sincerest apologies. If you can forgive me… I’d like to start again.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, you pulled away to turn your back to him, chewing at your lip in thought for a moment before quietly answering, “I can forgive you Mycroft… honestly, I think I had already done so years ago- but starting over will not be easy for me. Would you mind terribly if I took some time to think on it?”

He pulled a face, trying to be a friend was harder than he thought and all these emotions… so complicated and tedious- but he was committed. He'd apologized for Heaven's sake. He gave a sigh of his own, running a hand down his face, “Of course not. I’ve asked a lot of you.”

You turned to face him again just as the door burst open and Sherlock and John literally tumbled in causing you to giggle softly, moving to help John up from his place on top of Sherlock, “I see Sherlock has freed you. I’m sorry for locking you in… I needed to ensure he wouldn’t follow.” He grinned at you once he was on his feet and you hastily added, “Oh… and for using you as a meat shield. I apologize for that as well.”

“It’s alright (F/n). No harm done… A small price to pay to have a pretty lady burst through my window,” John chuckled, offering you the most adorable grin.

You blushed deeply as you giggled back, “I would burst through windows more often if I were always met with a handsome man on the other side.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and Mycroft shot John an ominous glare but the two of you didn’t notice as John flashed you a goofy grin and you let out a soft laugh that turned into a large yawn. Sherlock frowned, quickly calculating the time difference and the number times you’d already said you were tired before grabbing the neck of your shirt to drag you toward the door, “Come on. I want to get this story over and done with.”

You rolled your eyes as you gave a triumphant smirk, “You’re just miffed that I won… besides even after you do-I still have three hugs.”

He pulled an unamused face as he grumbled, “Don’t remind me,” and gave you another little tug so you’d follow him as John chuckled and Mycroft raised an eyebrow. You gave a little wave in their direction as you yawned, “Good night boys,” and then spun to take up Sherlock’s hand, effectively reversing your roles as you dragged him down the hall towards the stairs to go up to your room.

You went to change and he flopped down on your bed as he hummed, “You and Mycroft seem to be getting on well.”

You appeared in the doorway to your bathroom in your pajamas, “… he apologized to me. That’s not normal for him right?”

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, rolling to prop himself up on his elbows so he could look at you, “He apologized?”

Nodding, you pounced on your bed to flop across his back, “He did… said he wanted to start over.”

He tickled your side so you would get off him as he asked, “What did you say?”

You moved so that you were both looking up at the ceiling next to each other, admiring the constellations you’d drawn up there together when you were going through an astronomy phase, “I told him I’d have to think about it. A rift over fifteen years in the making isn’t just going to disappear in one night, no matter what we’ve discovered about each other.”

Sherlock pursed his lips, his thoughts racing as to what Mycroft might be playing at, and you sighed, snuggling into his side as you waited for him to come out of his thoughts. You could tell it had been a long time since he’d let loose and had some fun- normally your matches were a lot closer than that. You had hoped that maybe John was able to draw out the more human side of Sherlock, as you did when he allowed it, but it seemed that was something he reserved for you and only you.

Breathing in his scent deeply, you took advantage of the obliviousness that came with his deep thinking and started messing with his hair, realizing just how much you’d actually missed him in the time you’d been gone. You laughed when he flatly stated, “If you don’t stop that I’m going to count it as one of your hugs.”

“What kind of sister would I be if I didn’t take advantage of your fretting?”

“I wasn’t fretting.”

“You _so_ were. I know you and that was definitely your fretting face.”

“Was not.”

“Was so.”

He rolled his eyes, “It’s not up for debate (F/n). Now pick a book.”

“Everything is up for debate. You taught me that,” you hummed, rolling to the floor to retrieve a book from one of the stacks under your bed. He heard you yawn again and moved to look over the edge of the bed, “You’re exhausted.”

“Stop trying to get out of reading to me,” you huffed, sticking the book you’d chosen up in the air above your head for him to take before tiredly prying yourself off the floor to crawl under the covers. He sat cross-legged next to you, shaking his head with a soft half-smile as he ran his fingers over the book’s cover, “I should have known you’d pick The Hobbit.”

You smirked, “I said a story but I never said it had to be read in one sitting.”

“You also never said who got to choose it.”

He watched your face fall into a pout as he gave a satisfied smirk and then added, “But I approve of your choice.”

You grinned sleepily and poked him with your foot as you yawned, “Well get to it then.”

“Rude,” he grumbled and you giggled as he cracked it open and began to read, only getting a few pages in before he looked over to see you’d fallen asleep. He sighed heavily, as much as he’d missed you it was easier when you were gone- it made him feel like he didn’t have to worry as much. He knew you could take care of yourself but when you were right in front of him that fact didn’t matter and all he could do was worry.

This whole Mycroft thing, in particular, was bothering him… what did his brother want with you? He certainly wasn’t going to let him put you through that whole mess all over again if he was just messing with you but there was a chance he was genuine- he could never tell with Mycroft. He gave your leg a fond little pat as he started to get lost in his thoughts again, sliding off your bed to pad back to his own room for the night.


	13. A New Friend- Chapter 12

John was surprised to see you trudge into the dining room the next morning at around eight, having expected you to sleep in with the state you’d been in the night before. You were still in your pajamas, a pair of what looked to be Sherlock’s hand-me-downs, and your hair was disheveled to the point of it being comical. To be honest, it didn’t look like you were really awake at all, leaving him to wonder what had possessed you to leave your bed. His questions were answered when a smug looking Sherlock waltzed in behind you and gave a lock of your hair a quick tug as you started to fall asleep on your feet, causing your hand to go to the area as you whined, “Isn’t it enough that I’m up, Sherly?”

Sherlock smirked and continued on to the table as he tauntingly sang, “Only if you remain awake… Manners, (F/n).”

You blinked a couple of times, finally registering there were other people in the room, and lazily offered, “Mornin’ John… Mycroft.”

Mycroft furrowed his brow at you as you yawned loudly, “ You should have let her rest, Sherlock. I know this is an appropriate way to recondition the body’s clock after a time change but giving her a day to recover from the stresses of her travels would have been a more appropriate course of action.”  

Sherlock shrugged as you gave another large yawn, this time wobbling dangerously, and it quickly became apparent that you were going to fall. Your brother’s eyes went wide as he jumped up to try and prevent you from a harsh meeting with the ground but he was too far so the task fell to John, who had quite possibly noticed this predicament before Sherlock and slipped from his chair to grab you just as you lost your footing.

You slumped into his chest mumbling a slurred thank you at the exact moment Violet walked in with a pot of tea, the scene causing her to startle slightly while John wound his arms around you and pulled you towards the nearest chair. Setting down the tea, she grabbed Sherlock’s ear and gave it a harsh tug, “William Sherlock Scott Holmes-What did I tell you about waking her?”

John stifled a snicker and Sherlock grimaced at the use of his full name as she tugged again, expecting an answer, and he quickly grumbled, “That I wasn’t to do so… But-“

“No, buts young man. You of all people should be able to see that she’s exhausted.”

You managed to pull yourself up off the table to rescue him, offering Violet a small smile, “He was only trying to help, Violet. I just need a proper cup of tea or two and I’ll be fine.”

Once you had a half empty cup securely in your hand, you gave the table a proper greeting, offering Violet a soft, “Good Morning, Violet. Thank you for the tea,” before turning to give Mycroft a small nervous smile, “Mycroft, may I offer my apologies for the events of last night? I do hope Sherlock explained himself properly.”

“Your apologies are not the ones required but I shall accept them all the same as they are the only ones I will likely receive. He explained as properly as can be expected from him- that shall suffice.”

You nodded and then offered John a shy grin, “Thank you for rescuing me before.”

“You’re very welcome, (F/n),” He grinned, and you stifled a little giggle before frowning to yourself as you mentally questioned ‘What the hell was that? I can’t go around giggling like a giddy school girl.’

When you looked up Sherlock was staring at you intently, obviously trying to read you, and you quirked an eyebrow at him curiously, silently asking what had caught his interest. He responded, flicking his eyes to John and back and you both started what quickly turned into an argument of sorts over your previous romantic entanglements, his need to protect you, and then by the end the fact that he’d woken you. Years of living together made it easy to be basically yelling at each other without saying a single word.

John obliviously continued his breakfast chatting away with Violet while Mycroft’s eyes flicked between you and Sherlock with a lazy curiosity until you got fed up and snapped, “Oh shut it, you churlish clay-brained coxcomb.”

With that you stood and stormed out, grumbling something about needing to stop falling asleep reading Shakespeare as Mycroft gave a small amused smile, Sherlock chuckled, and John looked after you slightly bewildered. Violet sighed softly, “I wish you two wouldn’t do that at the table… especially when it’s an argument. It always ends in one of you seeming a tad touched.”

Sherlock simply scoffed, “It’s hardly my fault she can’t appreciate the fact that I cured her of the jet lag.”

John blinked a few times before knitting his brows together, “Did I miss something? You weren’t even talking…”

“Oh, but they were,” Mycroft thrummed, “Quite an interesting little form of silent communication you’ve developed with her, brother.”

Sherlock pointedly ignored him, looking to John with a hint of something mischievous in his eye, “Go make sure she hasn’t fallen asleep again just to spite me.”

John opened and closed his mouth a few times as all three Holmes’ looked to him expectantly and then pushed back from the table, “I’m going to go but I will not wake her if she’s sleeping.”

“Johhnnn” Sherlock whined as he left but the doctor called over his shoulder, “Save it, Sherlock. It’s not happening.”

Sherlock glued his lips shut to give a small smirk, curious to see how this played out as he needed more interaction to occur between the two of you before he could decide if he should allow John to get involved with you or not. He was so lost in his thoughts he failed to notice the slight frown on his brother’s face as he felt a pang of jealousy ripple through him in a way that he had never felt previously… Mycroft had never really had much to be jealous of and it seemed like a petty and tedious emotion yet here he was- jealous of John of all people.

He shook his head and went about creating his master plan to get you to see him as a friend while Sherlock plotted a plan of his own and Violet simply sighed, knowing from experience that she’d lost them both to their minds.


	14. A New Beginning- Chapter 12

You were rudely awakened by Sherlock stealing your blankets and pretty much yanking you out of bed, causing you to vehemently protest, “Leave me be, Sherly… I’m sleeping in.”

“No, you aren’t.”

Knowing exactly what he was trying to do, you went limp, forcing him to hold your entire weight, “I don’t care about jet lag right now. I just wanna sleep.”

He very unceremoniously let you fall and you contently curled up to go back to sleep on the floor, causing him to give a soft growl. You thought for a moment you were going to get away with that little stunt before he deceptively hummed in a soft tone, “Don’t make me do this the hard way.”

You just snuggled into the floor, “You wouldn’t dare.”

John and Mycroft were just sitting down at the kitchen table when they were startled by a loud screech followed by two sets of heavy footsteps trundling down the stairs as your voice shouted, “I’m going to sodding kill you, you arrogant twat of an imp!”

Violet emerged from the kitchen with a confused look on her face, exchanging glances with both John and Mycroft to see they were equally perplexed before Sherlock tumbled through the door as you screeched, “Get back here, you callous weasel.”

You came skidding in after him, drenched from the waist up and absolutely livid as you narrowed your eyes at Sherlock, who had taken refuge not too discreetly behind Violet. With a deep breath your demeanor turned scarily calm as you wiped some water from your face and slid into a chair next to Mycroft, “Mark my words, Sherlock, you will regret that.”

Even John caught the slight hint of fear that crossed your brother’s face and Violet turned to scold him, “I thought I made myself clear that you were to let her sleep.”

“You did. I simply chose to ignore it,” he offered and Violet pursed her lips and grabbed his ear to pull him down to her level, “I cannot believe your sass, young man. I raised you better than that. Now march up those stairs and clean the mess you’ve made.”

“But-“

“No excuses, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. You do as I say this second or your father will be hearing about this and I can promise you he will be less than pleased.”

John snickered behind his hand as Sherlock hung his head and trudged out of the room, shooting you a glare when you stuck your tongue out at him. You stifled a giggle and then accepted a towel from Violet, running it over your face as she took another to your hair and hummed, “You two… always acting like children.”

“His intentions were good, Violet, though it does not excuse him drenching me with a bucket of frigid water.” You sighed, giving an almost violent shiver as a chilly breeze came through the open window and hit your wet clothes. Mycroft was quick to notice, getting up to shut it and then offering you his suit coat, “Here. You'll catch a cold with the temperature in here what it is and those wet clothes.”

All three of you looked to him in surprise to which he quirked an eyebrow and wrapped the coat around your shoulders before sliding back into his seat and returning to his breakfast and newspaper. Violet simply accepted it with a small smile over how well the two of you seemed to be getting on but John narrowed his eyes at the man suspiciously, his fierce loyalty to those he considered friends kicking in as he wondered again what Mycroft was playing at. He felt animosity toward the man for causing the hurt he’d seen in your eyes the day before and didn’t want you to be hurt again. You deserved someone who was kind to you, someone like.... well- him. Looking between the two of you, an odd twinge of jealousy sparked in his chest at seeing you enveloped in Mycroft ‘s jacket before he shook his head and focused on his tea.

You snuck a glace at Mycroft, thinking over what he’d said the night before as you tugged his jacket around you and enjoyed the warmth that lingered from his body. You ducked your head and tucked your nose in the fabric of the collar as discretely as you could to breath in his smell as you thought maybe trying to start over with him might not be a bad idea. You did have a lot in common… he was your literary friend after all. You took one last deep breath, catching hints of rain in his sort of woodsy scent that was like oak wood and leather tied in with the musty smell of old books, and then yawned softly. Violet pressed a kiss to the top of your head on her way to the kitchen, “I’ll get you some tea, darling. It will get you warmed up and wake your mind.”

Once you were warmed and had a cup of tea cradled between you hands, you looked hopefully to John, “If it’s not to much trouble, would you keep him out of the house for a while? I’ll get no peace while he’s here.”

Violet shook her head at the situation and went elsewhere as he crinkled his nose at the thought of Sherlock’s current mood but nodded, “Of course, (F/n). You should get some proper rest and I can see that’s certainly not going to happen while he’s around.”

“Please let me know when I can return the favor. I know how taxing it is to live with him and as adorable as you are when you're flustered I’d rather you didn’t punch his face in,” you hummed as he got up and you could see his cheeks go a little pink, giving a soft giggle.

Mycroft shot a glare in John’s direction before pausing to contemplate why exactly, finding he had a growing hostility towards the man for catching your attention and building a friendship where he couldn’t. His logical mind defined it as jealousy but he refused to believe it as such, firmly returning the paper as John slipped away, and then gave a smug smirk at a new thought- he was going to have you to himself for the day.

When he glanced at you again, you had pulled your knees up, tucking yourself tightly into the chair, and without looking towards him softly offered, “Thank you, Mycroft.”

“Not a problem, my dear. I know all too well what it is like to be on the receiving end of Sherlock’s antics and you were more than accommodating last night. The least I could do was return the favor.”

You nodded, hesitantly looking up to meet his gaze, “I’m going to go change. Would you like your jacket back? I’m afraid it’s a bit damp now.”

“It’s quite alright. You may return it to me later,” he responded, offering a soft smile in an attempt to reassure you. A pink tint came to your cheeks against your will, causing you to internally curse as you knew he noticed it, but still returned a cautious grin before bolting from the room before he could say anything.

He watched you go, liking how his jacket dwarfed you and then ran a hand through his hair- you seemed to be coming around, though it was difficult to tell for sure as, similar to Sherlock, he could only read so much from you. Still, something was better than nothing. Didn’t the old saying go: slow and steady wins the race?


	15. A New Friend- Chapter 13

You quite literally bumped into John as you came out of your room, both of you giving a little awkward chuckle as you stepped back to create a gap between the two of you. He took a moment to look you over, you had changed into a worn pair of jeans with a hole in the knee of one leg and a plaid green button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up over your elbows. Your long hair was up in a sensible ponytail that just added to how casual your overall look was.

You offered him a quick grin, “Sent to deal with me again I see. I bet Sherlock asked you to wake me if I was sleeping.”

John nodded, “I told him no.”  

“Thank you for that but it was unnecessary. I’m actually going out,” you laughed lightly

“Out?” he echoed, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

You fought the urge to giggle and nodded, “For a walk. It’s a nice enough day and I need some fresh air. You are welcome to join me if you’d like. It would save you the trouble of having to report back to my family and I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Slipping past him, you started on your way to the door, sock covered feet making hardly any sound, and he trailed you like a lost puppy, “Shouldn’t you rest?”

You made your way down the stairs, tossing an answer over your shoulder, “I’m used to not getting much sleep. I did live with Sherlock for quite some time and I don’t have to tell you that he can keep you up for days on end when something motivates him enough.”

“But you haven’t been home in what… six years was it you said? You would have me believe that in all that time your habits didn’t change?”

You paused to pull open the front door, sparing him a quick fleeting glance to find that he looked genuinely concerned. You shook your head, “I appreciate your concern, John, but I promise you I’m fine. My job requires as much of me as Sherlock’s does and with all the traveling, my body is accustomed to abrupt changes and long periods without sleep.”

The mud on your shoes from the day before flaked off when you banged the soles against the top step and you quickly slipped them on while John ventured, “What is your job exactly?”

“Shall I assume you’re coming with me then?” you wondered, quirking an eyebrow at him, and he nodded, prompting you to continue, “Consulting Conflict Resolution Specialist is my official title. Sherlock came up with it back when I first started working cases with him so people would be impressed when he introduced me. Personally, I prefer problem solver- when people need something fixed they come to me.”

“So what do you actually do?” John asked, walking beside you as you meandered down a path that led off the grounds.

“A little bit of everything I suppose. I can be a detective when needed or an information gatherer and sometimes I do damage control type things but mostly I’m a mediator and a negotiator.”

“Sound interesting.”

You offered him a little grin, “It never gets old and people hardly ever get along so I’m always busy.”

A comfortable silence settled in as you walked and then he wondered, “What you do requires a lot more patience and people skills than what Sherlock does… you two seem so different. How is it you became friends in the first place?”

You chuckled, “It’s a long story that I’ll save for another time but I guess you could say that we were drawn to each other by the level of intelligence we share… we just happened to have different strengths- much like you and him do now.”

John looked confused and you let out an amused hum, “You didn’t think he chose you to accompany him on his cases just because you happened to be there, did you?”

“Actually, I kind of did,” he admitted, giving a short laugh.

“Sherlock chose you because you not only put up with his antics but you keep him grounded as well. There are a lot of things he is not good at but reading people’s character- that is something he is almost terrifyingly superb at. I doubt he anticipated you’d become a friend but he certainly chose you for who you are and your skill set.”

John looked to be thinking that over when you glanced his way to add, “I can see why he did. You’re a rather remarkable man, John Watson.”

The pink tint that came to his cheeks was entirely out of his control and you let out a mirthful giggle as you linked your arm with his, “You’re so fun to fluster.”

He gave a small, embarrassed chuckle but leaned against your side slightly, causing you to shoot him a sidelong glance and a shy smile. He couldn’t figure you out. One second you were teasing him and flirting and the next you were chewing you lip shyly and avoiding his gaze- were you messing with him or did you like him?

Both of you enjoyed the silence as you walked arm in arm, each of you relishing the fresh air and a chance to sort through your respective thoughts. You contemplated your argument with Sherlock earlier over your attraction to John, wondering what your brother was playing at by questioning his friend’s merits as a potential match for you and then contradictingly sending him to check on you.

You were trying to convince yourself that he was just being meddlesome for the sake of being meddlesome when John cleared his throat, drawing your attention to him as he wondered, “How did you know those things? Last night I mean?”

“Power of observation. I’m inclined to agree with Sherlock- people often look but rarely see.”

He pursed his lips in what looked to be something very close to a dissatisfied pout and you hummed softly in amusement before explaining, “Your full name was on the train ticket Mycroft bought you and your status as a doctor was obvious the moment you opened the front door for me from your handshake. The kitchen was a mess and I didn’t have to open the cabinets to know they were empty but there was a pan in the sink signifying that someone was at least attempting to cook and since it obviously wasn’t Sherlock that left you. As for wanting a night to yourself and a new password- everyone needs time off from Sherlock when living in close proximity and the man rarely uses his own computer when he knows he can guess the password of someone else’s. You don’t seem like one to come up with a password tricky enough to keep Sherlock out of your things- no offense.”

There was a moment of quiet and you wondered if maybe you’d gone a bit too far, you still didn’t know John very well after all, before he broke out in a wide grin, “That was fantastic!”

You had to stop walking, you started to laugh so hard, and he gave you a confused look. Between laughs, you managed to choke out, “No wonder Sherlock keeps you around- you’re remarkable and you willingly stroke his ego.”

You slowly recovered, offering him a wide grin, “Where have you been all my life? Sherlock would have been so much easier to live with with you around.”

John went to respond when the grey sky finally decided it had had enough and started to shower you with a light rain. You quickly grabbed John’s hand and took off at a run, glad that you were close enough to your destination that you didn’t have to go very far in the rain. The both of you were panting softly by the time you pulled him under a large gnarled looking tree with branches enough to shelter you from the water falling from the sky. You exchanged a glance and then started giggling, John with his hands on his knees as he tried to recover his breath and you leaning on his shoulder for support.

Once your shared case of the giggles died down, you moved over to the tree trunk, tracing the double helix DNA scar Sherlock had carved into it when you were teens. John stepped over behind you, running a hand over the Oxytocin molecule you’d drawn next to it, “You and Sherlock came to this tree often, didn’t you?”

“Whenever we wanted to get away,” you nodded, “I used to come alone and then one day he followed me and it became our place.”

“What does this stand for?” he asked, giving an upwards nod to the mark under his hand. You offered him a small smile, pointing to the DNA, “Teenage boredom. He carved the strand of DNA and said nearly everything alive is made of the same building blocks- from this tree to him and me. I carved the chemical structure of Oxytocin- the hormone that is believed to be responsible for intimacy. It was a good-natured jab at his claim that relationships were pointless since even science accounts for the human need for intimacy- it's in our biology.”

“How did he respond to that?”

You waved a hand for him to follow and walked around the wide trunk to pat another carving, “He carved one of the proposed structures of Humic acid. It’s produced by the breakdown of organic matter. He reasoned that since it is found where something has died or decayed, essentially everywhere, that we are always surrounded by death just as much as we are surrounded by life.”

“Wow, that’s…”

“Dark? Sherlock’s always been a bit morbid,” you chuckled.

“He’s such a hypocrite- he keeps saying my blog romanticizes the truth but this seems oddly poetic,” John huffed tracing a finger over the scared bark and you placed a hand on his shoulder with the soft lilt of a laugh hitting his ears a moment later.

He glanced over at you, “Why did you bring me here?”

“It’s quiet and I like it here. I thought I would share,” you shrugged, walking back around the tree and sticking your hand outside its circumference to feel the rain that was still coming down.

John just watched you for a moment, rubbing at his hair to help it dry. Your hair was plastered to your face and neck and your clothes were covered in a smattering of darker spots just like his but you didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. A smile curved at your lips as you caught some of the rain in your cupped hands before letting it fall to the ground with a little splash. You’d brought him someplace with a lot of meaning to you, shown him part of your life that he doubted anyone aside from you and Sherlock had ever seen. There was definitely something to that no matter how casually you'd brushed it off.

He took a few steps closer to you and you suddenly turned, running into him again, but this time you didn’t step away and neither did he. Your chin lifted to look at him- he wasn’t much taller than you, maybe an inch or so, and your eyes were nearly level. You appreciated that for a moment since with Sherlock you always head to crane your neck to look him in the eyes and you could never quite see into them over the distance. With John it was different, you could see the grey-blue of his eyes quite clearly and it was almost as though you were looking into his very soul. You tilted your head slightly as you thought, ‘People say that, right? The eyes are windows to the soul or something like that?’

Neither of you noticed that the gap between you was slowly growing smaller as you each searched the other’s eyes until your lips were about to touch and you stopped staring as they fluttered closed. The moment of contact never came as the loud sound of a car horn startled you apart. John looked royally peeved when you both turned to find Mycroft, sitting almost smugly in the driver’s seat of the same grey Bentley you’d taken from the station.

He raised an expectant eyebrow and the two of you scrambled over to hop in, finding the floor and seats already covered with towels to keep the interior clean. Mycroft simply offered, “Mother sent me to see to it you didn’t walk back in the rain and catch a cold,” as an explanation for his presence, turning the car around to take you back to the house. You gave him a wide grin and a thank you before starting up a conversation about one of the books you’d both read while John crossed his arms over his chest in a sulk and glared at the back of the other man’s head. He was more than sure he’d interrupted on purpose. What was Mycroft’s deal?


	16. A New Beginning- Chapter 13

With both Sherlock and John out of the house, you could have a quiet morning for the first time in a while. You’d loved traveling, meeting new people and exploring the world had been so much fun, but it was also hectic and your job demanded nearly all of the time when you were on the road. Most government agencies and powerful residents jumped at the chance of having someone with your skills in their employ- who would have guessed?

What you did was fairly similar to Sherlock’s profession and you did solve crimes when you were asked to but more than anything you were a negotiator and mediator. When someone needed an agreement to come about between two warring parties it was you they called. When good names were being slandered and dragged through the mud it was you they called. When tense situations rose up with criminals and demands it was you they called. Needless to say you were very busy even before you left London and many government officials had you on speed dial, meaning you hadn’t had a moment of peace like this in ages. You had often felt like the poor little Hobbit out on an adventure longing for the comforts of home and now that you were home it was so unbelievably satisfying.

You lethargically made your way to your room to change and run a brush through your hair so it didn’t get tangled, pausing only to pull off Mycroft’s coat, turn it inside out and hang it to dry so it wouldn’t get ruined. After rummaging around in your travel-battered duffle to find your favorite oversized sweater and a pair of worn sweatpants, you dragged the snuggle-worthy fluffy blanket Violet always kept at the foot of your bed with you to the library and curled up in your favorite chair. You rubbed your dip in the window frame with a wide yawn and wiggled down into the chair to get comfortable before pulling one of the books you’d left there before into your lap.

That was where Mycroft found you when he came looking for you a short while later- snuggled down in his favorite chair asleep with the open book still in your hand. His lips surprised him by turning up in a small smile as scrutinized your sleeping form and he noted the reaction before shaking his head to rid himself of thoughts concerning how adorable you looked sleeping in his chair. Any relationship he had with you was tentative, to say the least. He needed to focus on showing you that his intents were indeed sincere.

He was about to turn on his heel and let you rest, when a phone ringing broke the silence and you startled awake with a confused look on your face. You could feel the phone vibrating and quickly found it in the cushions of the chair, looking at it will a small growl before answering it and putting it to your ear, “Sherlock, I am going to kill you. Hiding my phone in my chair? Really?”

You pressed a hand to your forehead as you felt a headache coming on and groaned, “I don’t care that it was predictable. I need to rest, Sherlock. Just a few hours of peace is all I’m asking for. Need I remind you what happened last time you messed with me when I was overdrawn?”

“Precisely. Now unless you want to wait a few months to have your eyebrows and that precious curl on your forehead grow back again, then I suggest you leave well enough alone and enjoy your time out with John.”

You startled badly when Mycroft let out a soft chuckle, he’d always wondered how his brother’s eyebrows had gone missing all those years ago. The phone had slipped from your hand in your surprise and Sherlock’s voice was blaring through it as he jumped to conclusions and started to worry. Once the phone was back in your hand, you offered Mycroft a small smirk as you hummed, “Calm down, you twit. I just dropped the mobile. Laterz.”

You hung up on him before he could respond and set your phone to silent while greeting the man in the doorway, “Hello, Mycroft. Did you need something?”

“I was hoping I would find you in the mood for some company. Do you mind if I sit with you?”

You lips twitched up a fraction as you immediately shook your head, “Not at all. Come sit.”

To his surprise, you shifted to a different chair, reaching up over your head to rub the dip in the wood just below his before settling in with your knees pulled up to your chin and your blanket around your shoulders. He took the chair you had just vacated as your eyes wandered over his person- since you’d left him at the table he’d rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt to the elbow, revealing a smattering of freckles across his arms, and his usual pocket watch was missing. You liked the more relaxed look.

When your eyes finally landed on his face, you found he was doing much the same- examining your appearance just as closely as you were his. A dusting of pink swept across your cheeks as you grew self-conscious of your attire and it’s shabby state and when his iridescent eyes met yours, you turned to look out the window.

There was a period of silence as you both went over your thoughts and new deductions and finally, Mycroft broke it, “You did not have to move for me, (F/n).”

Your lips parted slightly in the hint of a smile but you didn’t turn from the window, giving a softly hummed response, “You rarely sit anywhere else and you were displeased when you found me sitting there last- my moving may not have been necessary but it was certainly desired.”

When he didn’t respond right away, you turned to face him, a huff of exasperation escaping your lips, “Besides, as Sherlock so graciously pointed out, my tendency to sit there is predictable, far too much so for my tastes.”

“Irritating isn’t he?” Mycroft chuckled and the corner of your mouth raised as you responded, “Very much so… Oddly enough that’s part of what I’ve missed. As irksome as he is, his antics keep things interesting.”

Both of you shifted your gaze out the window as he admitted, “He certainly mixes thing up, that’s for sure- for better or for worse.”

A light laugh bubbled up to escape your lips and he closed his eyes to revel in the sound as it floated through the air before it was exchanged for the smooth lilt of your voice, “I’ve been thinking...”

“Oh? May I ask what about?” he quickly responded, eyes flickering open to examine you. Your gaze was still on the sky outside, the light reflecting the soft color of it in your eyes, and the edge of your bottom lip was caught between your teeth- marking your hesitation not only in your speech but in thought as well. You sucked in some air before supplying, “About our conversation last night and your request.”

His breath caught slightly but he kept his tone even as he pressed, “And?”

“There are things that I cannot forget, Mycroft. Minds like ours etch memories so deeply and clearly that it is as much of a curse as it is a gift. Every vivid moment of joy is paired with an equally vivid moment of pain.”

He watched you closely, catching the slight hint of a wince as your mind called one such memory to your attention, and his mouth curved down in a disappointed frown, already anticipating that your answer would be less than favorable. Again you surprised him since the next words from your lips as you turned your gaze to him began with, “But…”

You locked on to his eyes, noticing that in this lighting they looked silvery-green like a leaf of lamb’s ear or a clear piece of green amethyst, and quietly continued, “If you sincerely wish to try again, then I am willing to allow you a second chance. The animosity between us… it has gone on long enough and I will not be the reason it continues out of my inability to let go of the past.”

A smile spread across his face and you returned it before looking out the window again for a moment and then hopping up from your chair as you stated, “You know, there’s a book I’ve always wondered why you never read. Hold on a minute.”

You padded silently over to the ladder with a soft yawn and tweaked your lips to the side in thought before shoving it three feet to the left. Mycroft was quick to join you when you stepped up a few rungs and wobbled as you gave another large yawn. You went all the way to the top, balancing on the second to last rung to reach a book on the highest shelf, and then called, “Catch,” as you dropped it in his direction.

He was looking at it while you carefully stepped back down the ladder when the leg of your oversized sweatpants got caught under your foot and, with exhaustion slowing your reflexes, you fell directly onto an unsuspecting Mycroft. You both ended up on the ground with you on top of him, trying to scramble up when he let out a groan, “Oh my- Mycroft? I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

You managed to balance yourself over him with a hand on either side of his head as he coughed a couple of times and then answered, “I’m alright, a little winded and a bit bruised but fine. What about-“

He stopped short when his eyes blinked open and he found you looking down at him with a panicked sense of concern, your eyes dashing between his. His hand came to your cheek almost on its own accord as he murmured, “What about you, my dear? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

All you could manage was a slight headshake in response, your eyes locked on his as you stared at each other intensely. You were close enough that he could feel the heat of your breath on his lips and feel the pace of your heart pick up to match the almost frantic beating of his own. He could so easily lean up and kiss you- part of him wanted to- but that would mean breaking whatever this was and his body wouldn’t allow him to do that.

You felt the change in the rhythm of his heart in the same way he felt yours and a wave of something akin to shock coursed through your veins as you wondered if it was from the fall or your subsequent proximity. His eyes told you it was the latter and your cheeks went red but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the now blue-green depths of the eyes of the man below you.

Neither of you even thought to move for what seemed like ages until an oblivious John burst into the room in search of you, “(F/n)? I’m sorry. He’s being absolutely insufferable. If you’re feeling better, could-“

He stopped short when his eyes fell on the two of you and you quickly scrambled up to offer Mycroft a hand as you rushed, “It’s alright, John. I’m awake now- adrenaline does wonders- and I’d be happy sit and chat for a bit.”

You looked up at Mycroft once he was on his feet, hints of worry still coloring your gaze, “Are you sure your alright, Mycroft? I was still fairly high up when I fell on you… maybe you should have John check you over. Just to be sure.”

John tilted his head, “You fell on him?”

A blush colored your cheeks as you nodded, “I misstepped  on the ladder and he broke my fall.”

Mycroft set a hand on your shoulder and offered you a reassuring smile, “The only thing wounded was my pride- had I been paying more attention to you and less to the book this would not have happened.”

You offered another apology and he assured your that he was fine once more before you left with John, leaving him to scoop the book up off the floor and settle down with it in his chair while he thought over what had just happened. He cursed John for coming in when he did and for stealing you away when things were going even better than good- fantastic even. He’d have to seek you out again later when your attention could be focused on only him… perhaps if he claimed he’d been hurt in the fall. Was that too devious? He wondered to himself before deciding if it got you away from John it might be worth it.


	17. A New Beginning- Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get this going again.

You sent John to help Violet with lunch, leaning on the doorway to Sherlock’s childhood room, “Is there a reason you’re antagonizing John?”

He glanced up from cleaning his paint gun at his desk for a moment to scowl at you and then got back to it, “I wasn’t.”

“Sherly,” you sighed, “I know you meant well. Please don’t be cross. I’m awake now.” 

He huffed, “Obviously.”

“So what’s the problem?”

You watched as he set down what he was doing and leaned back in his chair to look at you, hands coming together under his chin lightly to signify it was something he was thinking on seriously. You gave him a moment, waiting for whatever was troubling him to settle so that he could speak.

“Mycroft is acting strangely.”

You blinked a couple of times, processing, and then stifled a laugh, “And that is what has you in a mood?”

Your brother frowned seriously, “It is not funny, (F/n). There is always a reason for what he does and I don’t like that this time his intentions are less than clear.”

You stepped in to sit on his desk, “Sherlock… he’s been pleasant and, as far as I can tell, genuine in his attempts to change his behavior toward me. While I understand your unease, I don’t think it warrants this amount of thought. Perhaps he truly does just wish to make amends.”

He huffed out air forcefully, brow furrowed ever so slightly, and you smiled softly, guessing at the true problem, “Sherly… no matter what happens with him, he’s not going to take your place. You’ll always be my favorite brother even if you aren’t my only brother.”

He rolled his eyes, but the furrow in his brow released, “Obviously, (F/n). You don’t need to tell me things I already know.”

A small fond smirk graced your lips as you leaned forward to kiss his temple gently, “Apologies, brother mine.”

He batted you away in very convincing mock annoyance, any traces of his previous mood gone, and you stepped back, “Come down to lunch when you're finished with that?”

“Not hungry.”

You faked a large yawn as you slipped out into the hall, “Hmmm then maybe I’ll just fall asleep at the table.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m not falling for that. That wasn’t even a convincing yawn.”

“Says you,” You sing-singed as you moved down the hall, “but as you pointed out I am so very predictable and I always get ever so sleepy after lunch… you never know. A midday nap sounds rather appealing.”

You heard him huff and knew you’d succeeded, if there as even a chance you would fall asleep at or after lunch he wouldn’t be able to stay away. A faint smile settled on your face as you headed the short distance to your room to change into something more appropriate. 

Taking a moment to consider your options, you picked out a pair of tailored black trousers and petal pink cami with a lace edge and layered a slouchy soft grey cardigan over it. After glancing in the mirror to twist your hair into a bun, you decided it was still comfortable and snuggly but much more presentable than your previous outfit.

Finished with making sure your hair looked nice, you stepped out and headed down to lunch. You stopped to leaning on the doorway to the kitchen, small smile on your face at the scene before you. John was leaning over the stove, clad in one of Violet’s aprons- a particular favorite of yours with little cows all over it, to stir what looked to be a sauce of some sort while chatting with Violet.

“It smells lovely,” you piped up and John jumped a little, cheeks going lightly red.

Violet turned to smile at you, “I was just teaching John to make that strawberry glaze Sherlock likes. He’s quite good.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, “Fantastic. Perhaps this will coax him to eat more often when they return home.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Violet beamed, proud of her newest attempt to get her son to behave like an actual human being and eat regularly.

“On that line, he will be joining us for lunch.”

John raised a brow, “How did you manage that?”

You slid into a chair at the table, “I may have implied that I intend to take a nap during or after lunch.”

Grinning as a laugh escaped John’s lips, you stretched your arms up over your head, “How about Mycroft? Will he be joining us?”

“I’m afraid not,” Violet answered with a frown, “He asked to have it brought up. Something about being sore.”

Your brow furrowed as you thought that over. He must be hurt from when you fell on him but hadn’t wanted to say anything to worry you in the moment. Violet and John continued as you fiddled absentmindedly with the edge of your cardigan and mulled over your thoughts. You felt an overwhelming amount of guilt at the notion that he was hurt because of you to the point he couldn’t even come down to have lunch with his family.

Coming to a decision, you looked up, “Mummy, would you make two plates for Mycroft and me? I’ll take his lunch up and keep him company.”

She blinked for a moment, surprised at the request, and then nodded, “Of course, darling. That is very kind of you.”

You ducked your head sheepishly, “Hardly… I may be responsible for his soreness. I fell on him from the library ladder.”

“(F/n) (L/n)! How many times have I told you to be careful on the ladder? You and Sherlock... always finding a way to make normal things dangerous.”

You mother continued to scold you in true parental fashion, but you tuned it out, delving back into your thoughts. You had fallen from quite high and he had taken the brunt of the fall... you hoped he wasn’t too seriously injured or in pain. The last thing you needed was the fragile balance that had developed between the two of you to be shifted.


	18. A New Friend- Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came out long. I tried to break it in two and it just didn't seem right so have a long chapter.

The drive was short but, in the time it took, the rain went from a light sprinkle to a forceful pouring, the light patter resounding on the car roof. Mycroft quickly produced his usual umbrella to shield you from the rain when the car stopped, beating John to opening the car door for you like a true gentleman. 

You were surprised at his change in demeanor but, since it was a pleasant change, decided not to question it. A light blush colored your cheeks as you took his offered hand and slid out into the safe patch created by the circumference of his umbrella, “Thank you, Mycroft.”

He gave you a small smile when you looked up at him, about to offer his arm to escort you inside, when John cleared his throat from the other side of the car. Your gaze snapped to him instantly.

He looked a bit miffed and thoroughly wet, having stepped out without an umbrella to shield him in an attempt to open your door for you before realizing he’d been beaten to it. Your blush deepened a little as you concluded he was wet for your sake and that he had had the wind stolen from his sails. Offering him a grateful grin as a bit of laughter bubbled up in your chest from the look on his face, you stepped out from under the umbrella to go to him and Mycroft let out a displeased huff as you grabbed John’s hand and dragged him inside.

“Stay here,” you commanded once you were out of the rain, squeezing his hand lightly. He nodded and watched you with a small smile, appreciating the attention, as you paused to carefully kick off your muddy shoes in the corner and peel off the plaid shirt, leaving only a light cami. 

John couldn’t help but admire your newly bared skin, eyes tracing over you as you offered him a playful grin and rushed down the hall to get some towels and dry clothes for him. He was beginning to think there was something to Violet’s thinking at this point. You were single… he was single… there was an obvious attraction and it seemed your family didn’t disapprove.

When you slid back to him on sock feet with a small giggle and a towel extended out to him, he snapped from his thoughts to take it, using it to dry his hair with a soft, “Thank you.”

You watched as he ruffled at his hair lightly to dry it, tilting your head to the side to ponder all that had transpired under the tree. Just a moment longer and you would have easily kissed the blonde doctor. Strangely, that fact did bother you but rather left a warm feeling in your chest that you recognized as a form of joy. You briefly considered that perhaps Mummy was onto something- he clearly liked you and you felt that same tug of attraction toward him. Sherlock seemed to think it wasn’t something either of you should pursue but he also had a bit of a blind spot when it came to issues such as these.

You didn’t realize you were staring until John pulled the towel away, leaving his blonde hair all fluffed into hedgehog-like spikes, and a soft, almost smitten, sigh escaped your lips. 

His gaze shot up to meet yours, jarred from his task by the sound, and you went red, looking away quickly, “Sorry... You just look rather like an adorably ruffled hedgehog.”

To your surprise, John let out a chuckle, “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s cute when flustered.”

Cheeks ablaze, you pushed him gently down on the entryway bench, “Look at that... the good doctor giving me a taste of my own medicine. Who would have guessed.”

It was Mycroft’s turn to clear his throat, raising a brow at the two of you from the doorway, “Am I interrupting?”

John couldn’t help but shoot him a glare that said you-know-you-are but you didn’t catch it, looking up to offer Mycroft an apologetic look, “Not at all. I just thought it best to get our poor Watson out of the rain and into some dry clothes.”

He pursed his lips at John before looking back at you, “Some dry clothes would be good for the both of you. I trust you’ll be quick about it. Mother has requested your help with preparing lunch.”

You nodded, kneeling to tug off John’s shoes impatiently to avoid the spread of more mud, “Shall I assume that she’s also assigned Sherlock some chores and he's being difficult?”

Mycroft nodded just as a loud whine echoed down the hallway from the direction of the laundry room and you let out a chuckle. You knew how Sherlock could be about chores. Leaving the clothes on the bench for John, you bounced up and headed toward it, “I’ll check on that and then head to the kitchen.”

Once you were gone, John shot an accusatory glare at Mycroft, “You did that on purpose.”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you are talking about, Watson,” he responded, shaking out his umbrella and draping his outer coat on the hooks by the door as if he had done absolutely nothing.

“Yes, you bloody do!” John growled and Mycroft adopted that scarily cold demeanor he’s known for, straightening himself.

“I assure you, Watson, I do not... but if I did I would suggest that perhaps you reconsider your interests as pursuing them could be very... sticky... for you.”

John could only gape at his back as he strode ominously down the hall, wondering what in the world had gotten into the man. First, he hates you and now all the sudden he’s acting the protective older brother? 

The doctor was snapped from his thoughts by another loud whine down the hall followed by a small crash and what seemed to be some heated bickering. Fearing the worst, he quickly changed into the shirt and trousers you’d left him, some casual hand me downs from what looked to be William Sr., and then ventured toward the sound to see what was happening.

You tugged Sherlock’s hair just as John stepped in the door, huffing, “You can’t do all the clothes all at once! You at the very least have to separate the colors!”

He smacked your hand away with a small growl, “I know how to do laundry!” 

“Do you? Because it seems to me if you did we wouldn’t be standing in front of a broken washer now would we?”

“Uh...” John interrupted and you both looked toward him, snapping in unison, “What?!”

He held up his hands in defense, “Just seeing if I could help… I’m a bit handy with appliances. Maybe I could fix it.”

Sherlock scoffed, “This coming from a man who had a row with a chip and pin machine.”

John went red as you chuckled a little and shooed Sherlock out, “Be nice and hope he has better luck with washing machines, so we don’t have to tell Mummy.”

Your brother made a displeased face at the thought as you pushed him further out, “Go help her in the kitchen. Keep her busy while we fix it.”

Having considered the alternative, he did as you asked without protesting and John gave you a surprised look to which you sheepishly responded, “Mum can be a little scary when things get broken.”

He nodded, “Then we better fix it.”

“Precisely.”

“I’ll get the clothes out if you can get a toolbox?”

Giving a curt nod, you went to get one from down the hall, leaving John to handle the half wet mess of clothes. He designated a spot to put them and then got to work, halfway into his task when he dropped a piece from his armful. He bent to pick it up and froze, arm still out, as his eyes locked on what it actually was.

A pair of underwear…. panties to be exact. It only took a moment for him to come to the conclusion that they were yours, eyes locked on them for a long moment before he came to his senses. 

Just as he recovered and went to snatch them from the floor like he’d never seen them, you stepped back in, eyes trailing between him and the underwear now in his hand, “um…”

He went a little red and dropped it in the pile quickly like it had burned him, rushing, “So did you find that toolbox?”

A small smirk curled at your lips, holding the toolbox out to him, “If you wanted to see my underthings that badly, Doctor, all you had to do was ask… and maybe buy me dinner first.”

The red in his cheeks tripled as he took it from you, raising his eyes from the floor to meet yours, “That could be arranged… if you wanted.”

Your heart jumped a little as you looked back at him for a moment before breathing out a soft response, “I’d like that.”

He grinned, “Back in London?”

You nodded and gave him a little push to the machine, “Let’s focus. Sherlock can only keep Mummy distracted for so long.”


End file.
